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                          NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN




                               Written by

                        Joel Coen & Ethan Coen



                          Based on the Novel by

                             Cormac McCarthy



                       

                         

                         FADE IN:

          EXT. MOUNTAINS - NIGHT

          Snow is falling in a gusting wind. The voice of an old man:

                          VOICE OVER
           I was sheriff of this county when I
           was twenty-five. Hard to believe.
           Grandfather was a lawman. Father
           too. Me and him was sheriff at the
           same time, him in Plano and me here.
           I think he was pretty proud of that.
           I know I was.

          EXT. WEST TEXAS LANDSCAPE - DAWN/DAY


                         
          We dissolve to another West Texas landscape. Sun is rising.

                          VOICE OVER
           Some of the old-time sheriffs never
           even wore a gun. A lot of folks find
           that hard to believe. Jim Scarborough
           never carried one. That's the younger
           Jim. Gaston Boykins wouldn't wear
           one. Up in Comanche County.

          We dissolve through more landscapes, bringing us to full
          day. None of them show people or human habitation.

                          VOICE OVER
           I always liked to hear about the old-
           timers. Never missed a chance to do
           so. Nigger Hoskins over in Bastrop
           County knowed everbody's phone number
           off by heart. You can't help but
           compare yourself against the old-
           timers. Can't help but wonder how
           they would've operated these times.
           There was this boy I sent to the gas
           chamber at Huntsville here a while
           back. My arrest and my testimony. He
           killed a fourteen-year-old girl.
           Papers said it was a crime of passion
           but he told me there wasn't any
           passion to it.

          EXT. WEST TEXAS ROAD - DAY

          The last landscape, hard sunbaked prairie, is surveyed in a
          long slow pan.

                          2

                         

                          VOICE OVER
           Told me that he'd been planning to
           kill somebody for about as long as
           he could remember. Said that if they
           turned him out he'd do it again.

          The pan has brought into frame the flashing light bars of a
          police car stopped on the shoulder. A young sheriff's deputy
          is opening the rear door on the far side of the car.

                          VOICE OVER
           Said he knew he was going to hell.
           Be there in about fifteen minutes. I
           don't know what to make of that. I
           surely don't.

          Close on a pair of hands manacled behind someone's back. A
          hand enters to take the prisoner by one arm.

                          VOICE OVER
           The crime you see now, it's hard to
           even take its measure. It's not that
           I'm afraid of it.

          Back to the shot over the light bars: the deputy, with a
          hand on top of the prisoner's head to help him clear the
          door frame, eases the prisoner into the backseat. All we see
          of the prisoner is his dark hair disappearing into the car.

                          VOICE OVER
           I always knew you had to be willing
           to die to even do this job -- not to
           be glorious. But I don't want to
           push my chips forward and go out and
           meet something I don't understand.

          The deputy closes the back door. He opens the front passenger
          door and reaches down for something-apparently heavy-at his
          feet.

                          VOICE OVER
           You can say it's my job to fight it
           but I don't know what it is anymore.

          The deputy swings the heavy object into the front passenger
          seat. Matching inside the car: it looks like an oxygen tank
          with a petcock at the top and tubing running off it.

                          VOICE OVER
           ...More than that, I don't want to
           know. A man would have to put his
           soul at hazard.
          The deputy slams the door.

                          3

                         

                         
          On the door slam we cut to Texas highway racing under the
          lens, the landscape flat to the horizon. The siren whoops.

                          VOICE OVER
           ...He would have to say, okay, I'll
           be part of this world.

          INT. SHERIFF LAMAR'S OFFICE - DAY


                         THE DEPUTY
          Seated in the sheriff's office, on the phone. The prisoner
          stands in the background. Focus is too soft for us to see
          his features but his posture shows that his arms are still
          behind his back.

                         

                          DEPUTY
           Yessir, just walked in the door.
           Sheriff he had some sort of a thing
           on him like one of them oxygen tanks
           for emphysema or somethin'. And a
           hose from it run down his sleeve...

          Behind him we see the prisoner seat himself on the floor
          without making a sound and scoot his manacled hands out under
          his legs. Hands in front of him now, he stands.

                          DEPUTY
           ...Well you got me, sir. You can see
           it when you get in...
          The prisoner approaches. As he nears the deputy's back he
          grows sharper but begins to crop out of the top of the frame.

                          DEPUTY
           ...Yessir I got it covered.
          As the deputy reaches forward to hang up, the prisoner is
          raising his hands out of frame just behind him. The manacled
          hands drop back into frame in front of the deputy's throat
          and jerk back and up.

          Wider: the prisoner's momentum brings both men crashing
          backward to the floor, face-up, deputy on top.
          The deputy reaches up to try to get his hands under the
          strangling chain.

          The prisoner brings pressure. His wrists whiten around the
          manacles.

                          4

                         
          The deputy's legs writhe and stamp. He moves in a clumsy
          circle, crabbing around the pivot-point of the other man's
          back arched against the floor.

          The deputy's flailing legs kick over a wastebasket, send
          spinning the castored chair, slam at the desk.

          Blood creeps around the friction points where the cuffs bite
          the prisoner's wrists. Blood is being spit by the deputy.
          The prisoner feels with his thumb at the deputy's neck and
          averts his own face. A yank of the chain ruptures the carotid
          artery. It jets blood.

          The blood hits the office wall, drumming hollowly.

          INT. SHERIFF LAMAR'S BATHROOM - DAY


                         
          The prisoner walks in, runs the water, and puts his wrists,
          now freed, under it.

          INT. OFFICE - DAY

          Close on the air tank. One hand, a towel wrapped at the wrist,
          reaches in to hoist it.

          EXT. ROAD - LATE DAY

          Road rushes under the lens. Point-of-view through a windshield
          of taillights ahead, the only pair in sight.
          A siren bloop.

          The car pulls over. A four-door Ford sedan.
          The police car pulls over behind.
          The prisoner -- his name is Anton Chigurh -- gets out of the
          police car and slings the tank over his shoulder. He walks
          up the road to the man cranking down his window, groping for
          his wallet.

                          MAN
           What's this about?

                          CHIGURH
           Step out of the car please, sir.
          The motorist squints at the man with the strange apparatus.

                          MAN
           Huh? What is...

                          5

                         

                          CHIGURH
           I need you to step out of the car,
           sir.
          The man opens his door and emerges.

                          MAN
           Am I...
          Chigurh reaches up to the man's forehead with the end of the
          tube connected to the air tank.

                          CHIGURH
           Would you hold still please, sir.
          A hard pneumatic sound. The man flops back against the car.
          Blood trickles from a hole in the middle of his forehead.

                         
          Chigurh waits for the body to slide down the car and crumple,
          clearing the front door. He opens it and hoists the air tank
          over into the front seat.

          EXT. ARID PLAIN - DAY

          Seen through an extreme telephoto lens. Heat shimmer rises
          from the desert floor.
          A pan of the horizon discovers a distant herd of antelope.
          The animals are grazing.
          Reverse on a man in blue jeans and cowboy boots sitting on
          his heels, elbows on knees, peering through a pair of
          binoculars. A heavy-barreled rifle is slung across his back.
          This is Moss.
          He lowers the binoculars, slowly unslings the rifle and looks
          through its sight.
          The view through the sight swims for a moment to refind the
          herd. One animal is staring directly at us, its motion
          arrested as if it's heard or seen something.
          Close on Moss's eyes, one at the sight, the other closed.

                         HE MUTTERS:

                          MOSS
           Hold still.
          He opens the free eye and rolls his head off the sight to
          give himself stereo.

                         
          Close on the hatch-marked range dial on the sight. Moss
          delicately thumbs it.

                          6

                         

                         
          He eases the one eye back onto the sight.
          Point-of-view through the sight: Moss adjusts to bring the
          cross-hairs back down to the staring animal.
          Moss's finger tightens on the trigger.
          Shot: gunbuck swishes the point-of-view upward.
          Moss fights it back down.
          The point-of-view through the sight finds the beast again,
          still staring at us.
          The sound of the gunshot rings out across the barial.

                         
          Short beat.
          The bullet hits the antelope: not a kill. The animal recoils
          and runs, packing one leg.
          The other animals are off with it.

                          MOSS
           Shit.
          He stands and jacks out the spent casing which jangles against
          the rocks. He stoops for it and puts it in his shirt pocket.

          EXT. ARID PLAIN - LATER

          Moss is on foot, rifle again slung over his shoulder,
          binoculars around his neck. He is looking at the ground.
          An intermittent trail of blood.
          Moss's pace is brisk. Distances are long.
          He suddenly stops, staring.
          On the ground is the fresh trail of blood, the glistening
          drops already dry at the periphery. But this trail is crossed
          by another trail of blood. Drier.
          Moss looks one way along this older trail:
          His point-of-view: flatlands. Scrub. No movement.
          He looks the other way.

                         
          A distant range of mountains. No movement.
          He stoops to examine the trail.

                          7

                         

                         
          He paces it 'til he finds a print clear enough to give him
          the animal's orientation.
          He stands and looks again toward the distant mountains. He
          brings up the binoculars.
          His point-of-view: landscape, swimming into focus, heat waves
          exaggerated by the compression of the lens.
          Panning, looking for the animal.
          Movement, very distant. The animal is brought into focus: a
          black tailless dog, huge head, limping badly, phantasmal by
          virtue of the rippling heat waves and the silence.
          Moss lowers the glass. A moment of thought as he gazes off.

                         
          He turns and heads in the direction from which the dog came.

          EXT. RISE NEAR BASIN - MINUTES LATER

          Moss tops a rise. He scans the landscape below.
          Not much to see except-distant glints, off something not
          native to the environment.
          Moss brings up the binoculars.
          Parked vehicles: three of them, squat, Broncos or other off-
          road trucks with fat tires, winches in the bed and racks of
          roof lights.
          On the ground near the trucks dark shapes lie still.

          EXT. BASIN - MINUTES LATER

          Moss is walking cautiously up to the site, unslung rifle at
          the ready.
          Flies drone.
          He circles two dead bodies lying in the grass, covered with
          blood. A gut-shot dog of the same kind we saw limping toward
          the mountains lies beside them. A sawed-off shotgun with a
          pistol stock lies in the grass.
          The tires and most of the window glass are shot out of the
          first pickup Moss approaches.
          He opens the door and looks inside.

                         
          The driver is dead, leaning over the wheel. Moss shuts the
          door.

                          8

                         

                         
          He opens the door of the second truck.
          The driver, sitting upright, still in shoulder harness, is
          staring at him.
          Moss stumbles back, raising the rifle.
          The man does not move. The front of his shirt is covered
          with blood.

                          MAN
           Agua.
          Moss stares at him

                          MAN
           ...Agua. Por Dios.

                          MOSS
           Ain't got no water.
          On the seat next to the man is an HK machine pistol. Moss
          looks at it. He looks back at the man. The man is still
          staring at him. Without lowering his eyes Moss reaches in
          and takes the pistol.
          Moss straightens up out of the truck and slings the rifle
          back over his shoulder. He snaps the clip off the machine
          pistol, checks it and snaps it back on.
          Moss crosses to the back of the truck and lifts the tarp
          that covers the truck bed.
          A load of brick-sized brown parcels each wrapped in plastic.
          He throws the tarp back over the load and crosses back to
          the open cab door.

                          MAN
           Agua.

                          MOSS
           I told you I ain't got no agua. You
           speak English?
          A blank look.

                          MOSS
           ...Where's the last guy?

                         
          The injured man stares, unresponsive. Moss persists:

                          9

                         

                          MOSS
           Ultimo hombre. Last man standing,
           must've been one. Where'd he go?

                          MAN
           ...Agua.
          Moss turns to scan the horizon. He looks at the tire tracks
          extending back from the truck. He thinks for a beat.

                          MOSS

                          (TO HIMSELF)
           I reckon I'd go out the way I came
           in...
          He starts off.

                         
          Through the truck's open door:

                          MAN
           La puerta... Hay lobos...

                          MOSS

                          (WALKING OFF)
           Ain't no lobos.

          EXT. FLATLAND NEAR THE BASIN - LATER

          Moss stops to look out at a new prospect. Flatland, no cover.
          He raises the binoculars.

                          MOSS
           If you stopped... to watch your
           backtrack... you're gonna shoot my
           dumb ass.
          He doesn't see anything. He lowers the glass, thinking.
          He raises the glass again.

                          MOSS
           ...But. If you stopped... you stopped
           in shade.
          He sets off.

          EXT. NEAR THE ROCK SHELF - DAY


                         A POINT-OF-VIEW

                         
          Through the binoculars, some time later. One lone shelf of
          rock throws shade toward us. Heat shimmers in between.

                          10

                         
          Hard sun makes the rock shadow impenetrable. But there is a
          booted foot sticking into the sun toe-up like the nub on a
          sundial.
          Moss lowers the binoculars.
          He looks at his watch.

          11:30.
          He sits down.

                         FAST FADE

          EXT. NEAR THE ROCK SHELF - DAY


                         THE WATCH

                         

          12:30.
          Moss lowers the wristwatch and raises the binoculars again.
          The shadow has shifted. The foot hasn't moved.
          Moss gets up and walks toward it.

          EXT. ROCK SHELF - MINUTES LATER

          Moss arrives at the rock shelf.
          The man's body is tipped to one side. His nose is in the
          dirt but his eyes are open, as if he is examining something
          quite small on the ground.
          One hand holds a .45 automatic.
          Next to the body is a boxy leather document case.
          Moss looks at the man. He takes the gun, looks at it, sticks
          it in his belt.
          He drags the document case away from the body and opens it.
          Bank-wrapped hundreds fill it. Each packet is stamped

          "$10,000."
          Moss stares. He reaches in to rifle the stacks, either to
          confirm that the bag is full or to estimate the amount.
          He stands, looks around, looks back the way he came.

                          11

                         

          EXT. CATTLEGUARD ROAD - DAY


                         HIS TRUCK
          Moss's pickup is parked by a cattleguard off a paved but
          little-used road.
          Moss is just arriving. He throws in the document case, the
          rifle and the machine pistol, climbs into the cab and slams
          the door.

          EXT. DESERT AIRE TRAILER PARK - TWILIGHT

          Moss's truck pulls into a trailer park that sits alongside
          the highway on the outskirts of Sanderson, Texas. An old
          sign with a neon palm tree identifies the park as the Desert
          Aire.

                         
          Moss gets out of the truck next to a double-wide. Lights
          glow inside. He takes the case and machine pistol, gets down
          on his back next to the trailer and scoots underneath it.
          His point-of-view: plywood and plastic pipes. He pulls some
          insulation aside and crams the machine pistol up under the
          pipes.

          INT. TRAILER - NIGHT

          Moss enters carrying the document case. A twentysomething
          woman in cutoff jeans and a halter top watches TV. This is
          Carla Jean.

                          CARLA JEAN
           What's in the satchel?

                          MOSS
           It's full a money.

                          CARLA JEAN
           That'll be the day.
          Moss is crossing to a back bedroom. Before he disappears
          inside Carla Jean sees the pistol stuck in the back of his
          waistband.

                          CARLA JEAN
           ...Where'd you get the pistol?

                          MOSS
           At the gettin' place.

                         
          He emerges without the case or the gun and crosses to the
          refrigerator. He takes a beer from the refrigerator and peels
          its pulltab.

                          12

                         

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           Did you buy that gun?

                          MOSS
           No. I found it.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn!

                          MOSS
           What? Quit hollerin'.
          He walks back sipping the beer and sprawls on the couch.

                          CARLA JEAN
           What'd you give for that thing?

                         

                          MOSS
           You don't need to know everthing,
           Carla Jean.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I need to know that.

                          MOSS
           You keep running that mouth I'm gonna
           take you in the back and screw you.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Big talk.

                          MOSS
           Just keep it up.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Fine. I don't wanna know. I don't
           even wanna know where you been all
           day.

                          MOSS
           That'll work.

          INT. TRAILER BEDROOM - NIGHT

          We are drifting down toward Moss as he lies in bed next to
          Carla Jean. He lies still, eyes closed, but he is shaking
          his head. As the camera stops he opens his eyes, grimacing.

                          MOSS
           All right.

                         
          He looks at the bedside clock.

                          13

                         
          Its LED display: 1:06.
          He swings his legs off the bed, looks back at Carla Jean,
          and pulls the blanket up over her shoulder.

          INT. TRAILER KITCHEN - NIGHT

          Close on a gallon jug as Moss hold it under the tap, filling
          it with water.
          Carla Jean appears in the doorway, looking sleepy.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn.

                          MOSS
           Yeah.

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           What're you doin', baby?

                          MOSS
           Goin' out.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Goin' where?

                          MOSS
           Somethin' I forgot to do. I'll be
           back.

                          CARLA JEAN
           What're you goin' to do?
          Moss turns from the sink, screwing the top onto the jug.

                          MOSS
           I'm fixin' to do somethin' dumbern
           hell but I'm goin' anyways.
          He starts toward the front door.

                          MOSS
           ...If I don't come back tell Mother
           I love her.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Your mother's dead, Llewelyn.

                          MOSS
           Well then I'll tell her myself.

                         

          INT. TRUCK/EXT. CATTLEGUARD ROAD - NIGHT


                          14

                         

                         A MAP
          A detailed topographical survey map, illuminated by a
          flashlight.
          Moss is studying it in the cab of his truck.
          After a beat he folds the map.
          He checks the .45 taken off the corpse with the money.
          Wider: the pickup truck parked outside the cattle guard.
          After a beat, the truck drives over the grate onto the unpaved
          part of the road, jogging up the uneven terrain.
          Through the windshield, the view is pitch black except for
          the boulders and scrub picked out by the crazily bouncing
          headlights.

          EXT. BASIN - NIGHT


                         DOOR SLAM
          We are close on the water jug slapping against Moss's leg as
          we pull him through the darkness. The shape of his parked
          truck is just visible behind him, silhouetted on the crest
          by the glow of the moon already set.
          Walking across the basin to the near truck Moss freezes,

                         NOTICING:
          Its driver's-side door: closed.
          Moss scans the horizon. Its only blemish remains his own
          pickup.
          He jogs the few remaining paces to the pickup. He sets down
          the gallon jug. Softly:

                          MOSS
           Hello?...
          No answer.
          He opens the door.
          The man's body is still held upright by the shoulder harness
          but his head, flayed by buckshot, is tipped away.
          Moss glances at the bed of the truck.

                         
          Empty.
          He again looks at the horizon.

                          15

                         

                         
          Now another pickup stands in silhouette next to his own.
          Two men are there.
          Moss covers behind the dead man's truck. He eases his head
          out for another look.
          Only one man visible now.
          Sounds hard to identify. Something airy. Up on the crest his
          pickup rocks and settles. Its tires are being slashed.
          The other pickup's engine coughs to life. Headlights and
          roof lights go on.
          Moss again covers behind the vehicle.

                         
          A search-spot sweeps back and forth across the basin tableau
          of bodies and trucks. After a few trips back and forth
          something happens to the spot: its weaving light begins to
          bounce. We can hear the jouncing suspension of the pickup as
          it trundles down the incline.
          But the light tells the perspective of the slowly approaching
          truck. Moss stays in the lee of his sheltering vehicle as he
          runs, doubled over, directly away from the light, keeping to
          the shadow that wipes on and off.
          A gunshot. Its impact kicks up dirt just ahead of Moss to
          his right.
          Moss turns to see:
          Two jogging men flanking the truck like infantry escorting a
          tank. One has just halted to fire; the other is now raising
          his gun.
          Moss tacks and sprints and rolls under a second abandoned
          pickup to his left. Another shot sounds and misses.
          Bullets plunk into the metal of the truck body. One bullet
          skips off the dirt in front of the truck and pings up into
          the undercarriage.
          Moss is elbowing out the far side, next to a body lying by
          the truck's passenger door.
          The firing has stopped: Moss steals a look over the hood:
          The pursuing pickup is slowing so that the two gunmen can
          swing onto the running boards.

                         
          The truck accelerates and as it veers around the first
          abandoned pickup its lights swing off Moss's cover truck.

                          16

                         

                         
          Moss sprints off, doubled over, at a perpendicular to his
          previous path. He hits the ground, pressing himself into the
          earth, head between his forearms.
          He elbows away as the truck bears on his former cover.

          EXT. RIVER GORGE - DAWN

          He tops the small rise and straightens and flat-out runs.
          We hear the pickup's engine racing and see, behind Moss, its
          spot sweeping backlight across the crest.
          Moss is running towards the declivity of a river gorge. Sky
          there is pink from unrisen sun.
          Moss bears on the gorge, panting.

                         
          The pickup bounces up into view on the crest behind him,
          roof lights blazing. It is pointed off at an angle. Its
          spotlight sweeps the river plain.
          It finds Moss. The truck reorients as it bounces down in
          pursuit. A muzzle flash precedes the dull whump of the
          shotgun.
          Moss races on toward the river. Another shotgun whump.
          Moss stumbles, turns to look behind him.
          The truck, gaining ground. A man stands up out of the sunroof,
          one hand on top of the cab, the other holding a shotgun.
          Moss is almost to the steep riverbank. Another whump of the
          shotgun.
          Shot catches Moss on the right shoulder. It tears the back
          of his shirt away and sends him over the crest of the river
          bank.
          Moss airborne, ass over elbows, hits near the bottom of the
          sandy slope with a loud fhump.
          He rolls to a stop and looks up.
          We hear a skidding squeal and see dirt and dust float over
          the lip of the ridge, thrown by the truck's hard stop.
          As Moss pulls off his boots we hear voices from the men in
          the truck.
          There is the clank of its tailgate being dropped and sounds
          of activity on the hollow metal of its bed.

                          17

                         
          Moss tucks his boots into his belt and runs splashing into
          the fast-moving water. A look back:
          Something shakes the scrub down the steep slope.
          Moss backpedals deeper.
          Bursting out of the scrub at the foot of the slope: a huge
          black dog with a large head and clipped ears. It bounds toward
          Moss.
          Moss turns and half stumbles, half dives into the river.
          Underwater a very dull whump followed by the fizz of buckshot.
          Moss breaks the surface of the water, gasping, and looks

                         BACK:

                         
          Figures on the ridge. Below, the dog hitting the water.
          Another gunshot from the bank. Where it hits we don't know.
          River current and Moss's strokes speed him away.

          EXT. RIVER BEND - DAWN

          He sweeps around a bend. He finds his feet under him and
          staggers onto a sandbar and then splashes through some outwash
          to the far bank.
          The pursuing dog's head bobs rhythmically in the water.
          Moss pulls the gun from his belt. He takes the clip out and
          ejects the chamber round.
          The dog finds his stumpy legs much closer to the sandbar:
          his massive head dips and waggles as he lurches out of his
          swim. He emerges from the river and bounds across the sand.
          Moss shakes the gun and blows into the barrel.
          The dog splashes through the riverwash that separates him
          from the human.
          Moss reinserts the clip. He chambers a round as the dog runs
          snarling and as the dog leaps he fires.
          Moss fires twice more quickly, not waiting to see whether
          the first round told.
          The dog lands, stopped but not dead. It jerks and gurgles.

                          MOSS
           Goddamnit.
          He is looking out at the river. His boots are drifting by.

                          18

                         

                         

          EXT. RIVER BANK - DAY

          Moss has climbed the far bank and found a seat on a rock.
          It is now full day. Moss has taken off his shirt and has his
          neck craned round and his back upper arm twisted toward him.
          Where the buckshot hit, his arm is purpled and pinpricked.
          He meticulously picks shirt fiber out from where buckshot
          packed it into the flesh.
          He finishes. He rips swatches from his shirt. He starts
          wrapping his bare feet as he gazes off.
          His point-of-view: a lot of landscape, a highway in the
          distance. An eighteen-wheeler shimmies along in the heat.

          EXT. GAS STATION/GROCERY - SHEFFIELD - DAY


                         
          At an isolated dusty crossroad. It is twilight. The Ford
          sedan that Chigurh stopped is parked alongside the pump.

          INT. GAS STATION/GROCERY - DAY

          Chigurh stands at the counter across from the elderly
          proprietor. He holds up a bag of cashews.

                          CHIGURH
           How much?

                          PROPRIETOR
           Sixty-nine cent.

                          CHIGURH
           This. And the gas.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Y'all getting any rain up your way?

                          CHIGURH
           What way would that be?

                          PROPRIETOR
           I seen you was from Dallas.
          Chigurh tears open the bag of cashews and pours a few into
          his hand.

                          CHIGURH
           What business is it of yours where
           I'm from, friendo?

                         

                          PROPRIETOR
           I didn't mean nothin' by it.

                          19

                         

                          CHIGURH
           Didn't mean nothin'.

                          PROPRIETOR
           I was just passin' the time.

                          CHIGURH
           I guess that passes for manners in
           your cracker view of things.
          A beat.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Well sir I apologize. If you don't
           wanna accept that I don't know what
           else I can do for you.

                         
          Chigurh stands chewing cashews, staring while the old man
          works the register and puts change on the counter.

                          PROPRIETOR
           ...Will there be somethin' else?

                          CHIGURH
           I don't know. Will there?
          Beat.
          The proprietor turns and coughs. Chigurh stares.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Is somethin' wrong?

                          CHIGURH
           With what?

                          PROPRIETOR
           With anything?

                          CHIGURH
           Is that what you're asking me? Is
           there something wrong with anything?
          The proprietor looks at him, uncomfortable, looks away.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Will there be anything else?

                          CHIGURH
           You already asked me that.

                         

                          PROPRIETOR
           Well... I need to see about closin'.

                          20

                         

                          CHIGURH
           See about closing.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Yessir.

                          CHIGURH
           What time do you close?

                          PROPRIETOR
           Now. We close now.

                          CHIGURH
           Now is not a time. What time do you
           close.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Generally around dark. At dark.
          Chigurh stares, slowly chewing.

                          CHIGURH
           You don't know what you're talking
           about, do you?

                          PROPRIETOR
           Sir?

                          CHIGURH
           I said you don't know what you're
           talking about.
          Chigurh chews.

                          CHIGURH
           ...What time do you go to bed.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Sir?

                          CHIGURH
           You're a bit deaf, aren't you? I
           said what time do you go to bed.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Well...
          A pause.

                          PROPRIETOR
           ...I'd say around nine-thirty.
           Somewhere around nine-thirty.

                          21

                         

                          CHIGURH
           I could come back then.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Why would you be comin' back? We'll
           be closed.

                          CHIGURH
           You said that.
          He continues to stare, chewing.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Well... I need to close now --

                          CHIGURH
           You live in that house behind the
           store?

                          PROPRIETOR
           Yes I do.

                          CHIGURH
           You've lived here all your life?
          A beat.

                          PROPRIETOR
           This was my wife's father's place.
           Originally.

                          CHIGURH
           You married into it.

                          PROPRIETOR
           We lived in Temple Texas for many
           years. Raised a family there. In
           Temple. We come out here about four
           years ago.

                          CHIGURH
           You married into it.

                          PROPRIETOR
           ...If that's the way you wanna put
           it.

                          CHIGURH
           I don't have some way to put it.
           That's the way it is.

                          22

                         
          He finishes the cashews and wads the packet and sets it on
          the counter where it begins to slowly unkink. The proprietor's
          eyes have tracked the packet. Chigurh's eyes stay on the
          proprietor.

                          CHIGURH
           ...What's the most you've ever lost
           on a coin toss?

                          PROPRIETOR
           Sir?

                          CHIGURH
           The most. You ever lost. On a coin
           toss.

                          PROPRIETOR
           I don't know. I couldn't say.
          Chigurh is digging in his pocket. A quarter: he tosses it.
          He slaps it onto his forearm but keeps it covered.

                          CHIGURH
           Call it.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Call it?

                          CHIGURH
           Yes.

                          PROPRIETOR
           For what?

                          CHIGURH
           Just call it.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Well -- we need to know what it is
           we're callin' for here.

                          CHIGURH
           You need to call it. I can't call it
           for you. It wouldn't be fair. It
           wouldn't even be right.

                          PROPRIETOR
           I didn't put nothin' up.

                          CHIGURH
           Yes you did. You been putting it up
           your whole life. You just didn't
           know it. You know what date is on
           this coin?

                          23

                         

                         

                          PROPRIETOR
           No.

                          CHIGURH
           Nineteen fifty-eight. It's been
           traveling twenty-two years to get
           here. And now it's here. And it's
           either heads or tails, and you have
           to say. Call it.
          A long beat.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Look... I got to know what I stand
           to win.

                         

                          CHIGURH
           Everything.

                          PROPRIETOR
           How's that?

                          CHIGURH
           You stand to win everything. Call
           it.

                          PROPRIETOR
           All right. Heads then.
          Chigurh takes his hand away from the coin and turns his arm
          to look at it.

                          CHIGURH
           Well done.
          He hands it across.

                          CHIGURH
           ...Don't put it in your pocket.

                          PROPRIETOR
           Sir?

                          CHIGURH
           Don't put it in your pocket. It's
           your lucky quarter.

                          PROPRIETOR
           ...Where you want me to put it?

                          24

                         

                          CHIGURH
           Anywhere not in your pocket. Or it'll
           get mixed in with the others and
           become just a coin. Which it is.
          He turns and goes.
          The proprietor watches him.

          EXT. DESERT AIRE - NIGHT

          It is full night.
          Moss is pushing open the door to his trailer. We see Carla
          Jean inside.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn? What the hell?
          Moss enters and the door closes.

          INT. MOSS' TRAILER - LATER

          Carla Jean is finishing bandaging his arm.

                          MOSS
           Odessa.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Why would we go to Odessa?

                          MOSS
           Not we, you. Stay with your mother.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Well -- how come?

                         MOSS
          Right now it's midnight Sunday. When the courthouse opens
          nine hours from now someone's gonna be callin in the vehicle
          number off the inspection plate on my truck. And around nine-
          thirty they'll show up here.

                          CARLA JEAN
           So... for how long do we have to...

                          MOSS
           Baby, at what point would you quit
           botherin' to look for your two million
           dollars?

                         
          Carla Jean stares, thinking.

                          25

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           What'm I supposed to tell Mama?

                          MOSS
           Try standin' in the door and hollerin:
           Mama I'm home.

                          CARLA JEAN

                          LLEWELYN --

                          MOSS
           C'mon, pack your things. Anything
           you leave you ain't gonna see again.
          Carla Jean begins peevishly tossing things into a bag:

                          CARLA JEAN
           Well thanks for fallin' all over and
           apologizing.

                          MOSS
           Things happened. I can't take 'em
           back.

          EXT. CATTLEGUARD ROAD - NIGHT


          POINT-OF-VIEW THROUGH WINDSHIELD
          It is night. No other vehicles on this paved road.
          Our car turns off and rattles over a cattleguard.
          Parked on the other side is a Ramcharger. Its passenger door
          starts to open.
          Outside: Chigurh emerges from his Ford.
          The man emerging from the truck wears a Western-cut suit.

                          MAN
           Mind ridin' bitch?

          EXT. BASIN - NIGHT


                         THE RAMCHARGER
          Bouncing through ungraded terrain.
          It stops and discharges the three men-the driver and his
          partner, both in suits, from either side, and then Chigurh
          from the middle seat.

                         
          They have pulled over at Moss's truck.

                          26

                         

                          CHIGURH
           This his truck?
          He is opening the door and looking at the plate riveted
          inside.

                          MAN
           Mm-hm.

                          CHIGURH
           Screwgie.
          The man reaches into a pocket and hands over a screwdriver.
          As Chigurh works it under the plate:

                          CHIGURH
           ...Who slashed his tires?

                         

                          DRIVER
           Wudden us.

          EXT. BASIN - NIGHT

          A flashlight beam picks out the dog carcass.

                          DRIVER
           That's a dead dog.

                          CHIGURH
           Thank you.
          Chigurh plays the flashlight around the scene. Dead bodies
          on the ground.

                          CHIGURH
           ...Where's the transponder?

                          MAN
           In the truck. I'll get it.

                          DRIVER
           These are some ripe petunias.
          Chigurh gives his flashlight to the driver.

                          CHIGURH
           Hold this please.
          He bends down and takes a 9 mm. Glock off of one of the dead
          bodies and checks the clip. The other man is returning from
          the truck. He hands Chigurh a small electronic receiver.

                         

                          CHIGURH
           ...You getting anything on this?

                          27

                         

                         

                          MAN
           Not a bleep.

                          CHIGURH
           All right...
          Chigurh stands and holds his hand out for his flashlight.
          The driver hands it to him. Chigurh shines it in his face
          and shoots him through the forehead. As the man falls Chigurh
          pans the light to the other man who has watched his partner
          drop. He looks up, puzzled, and is shot as well.

          EXT. BELL'S RANCH - MORNING

          A horse trailer is backed up to a small stable with its gate
          down.
          Sheriff Bell, sixties, in uniform, slaps a horse on the ass
          and gives it a "Hyah!" to send it clattering up the ramp and
          into the trailer.
          His wife, Loretta, appears. She wears a heavy robe and holds
          a coffee mug.

                          LORETTA
           I thought it was a car afire.

                          BELL
           It is a car afire. But Wendell said
           there was something back country
           too.

                          LORETTA
           When is the county gonna start payin'
           a rental on my horse.

                          BELL
           Hyah!
          He is sending a second horse up into the trailer.

                          BELL
           ...I love you more'n more, ever day.

                          LORETTA

                          (UNMOVED)
           That's very nice.
          Sheriff Bell puts up the gate and pins it. She watches.

                         

                          LORETTA
           ...Be careful.

                          28

                         

                         

                          BELL
           I always am.

                          LORETTA
           Don't get hurt.

                          BELL
           I never do.

                          LORETTA
           Don't hurt no one.

                          BELL
           Well. If you say so.

          EXT. CATTLEGUARD ROAD - DAY


                         
          The pickup with horse trailer rattles up next to a parked
          squad car. Just beyond the cattle guard the Ford sedan is
          blazing. Sheriff Bell gets out of the truck and joins his
          deputy, Wendell, looking at the car. After a beat of staring:

                          BELL
           You wouldn't think a car would burn
           like that.

                          WENDELL
           Yessir. We should a brought wieners.
          Sheriff Bell takes his hat off and mops his brow.

                          BELL
           Does that look to you like about a
           '77 Ford, Wendell?

                          WENDELL
           It could be.

                          BELL
           I'd say it is. Not a doubt in my
           mind.

                          WENDELL
           The old boy shot by the highway?

                          BELL
           Yessir, his vehicle. Man killed
           Lamar's deputy, took his car, killed
           someone on the highway, swapped for
           his car, and now here it is and he's
           swapped again for god knows what.

                          29

                         

                          WENDELL
           That's very linear Sheriff.
          Bell stares at the fire.

                          BELL
           Well. Old age flattens a man.

                          WENDELL
           Yessir. But then there's this other.
           He nods up the ridge away from the
           highway.

                          BELL
           Uh-huh.
          He walks back toward the trailer.

                         

                          BELL
           ...You ride Winston.

                          WENDELL
           You sure?

                          BELL
           Oh, I'm more than sure. Anything
           happens to Loretta's horse I can
           tell you right now you don't wanna
           be the party that was aboard.

          EXT. BASIN - DAY

          The two men on horseback pick their way through the scrub
          approaching Moss's truck. Sheriff Bell is studying the ground.

                          BELL
           It's the same tire tread comin back
           as goin'. Made about the same time.
           You can see the sipes real clear.
          Wendell is standing in the stirrups, looking up the ridge.

                          WENDELL
           Truck's just yonder. Somebodies pried
           the inspection plate off the door.
          Bell looks up, circling the truck.

                          BELL
           I know this truck. Belongs to a feller
           named Moss.

                         

                          WENDELL
           Llewelyn Moss?

                          30

                         

                         

                          BELL
           That's the boy.

                          WENDELL
           You figure him for a dope runner?
          Bell sits his horse looking at the slashed tires.

                          BELL
           I don't know but I kindly doubt it.

          BASIN - DAY

          BY THE BODIES
          The two lawmen are dismounting.

                         

                          WENDELL
           Hell's bells, they even shot the
           dog.
          They walk towards the near truck.

                          WENDELL
           ...Well this is just a deal gone
           wrong.
          Sheriff Bell stoops to look at casings.

                          BELL
           Yes, appears to have been a glitch
           or two.

                          WENDELL
           What calibers you got there, Sheriff?

                          BELL
           Nine millimeter. Couple of .45 ACP's.
          He stands, looking at the truck.

                          BELL
           ...Somebody unloaded on this thing
           with a shotgun.

                          WENDELL
           Mm.
          Bell opens the door of the truck. Looks at the dead driver.

                         

                          WENDELL
           ...How come do you reckon the coyotes
           ain't been at 'em?

                          31

                         

                         

                          BELL
           I don't know...
          He shuts the door softly with two hands.

                          BELL
           ...Supposedly they won't eat a
           Mexican.
          Wendell is looking at the two corpses close together, wearing
          suits.

                          WENDELL
           These boys appear to be managerial.
          Bell walks back toward the bed of the truck as Wendell

                         APPRAISES:

                          WENDELL
           ...I think we're lookin' at more'n
           one fracas.
          A gesture toward the scattered bodies.

                          WENDELL
           ...Wild West over there...
          A nod down at the two men in suits with head wounds.

                          WENDELL
           ...Execution here.
          Bell, at the back of the truck, wets a finger and runs it
          against the bed and looks at it.

                          BELL
           That Mexican brown dope.
          Wendell strolls among the bodies.

                          WENDELL
           These boys is all swole up. So this
           was earlier: gettin set to trade.
           Then, whoa, differences... You know:
           might not of even been no money.

                          BELL
           That's possible.

                          WENDELL
           But you don't believe it.

                          32

                         

                          BELL
           No. Probably I don't.

                          WENDELL
           It's a mess, ain't it Sheriff?
          Bell is remounting.

                          BELL
           If it ain't it'll do til a mess gets
           here.

          EXT. MOSS' TRAILER - DAY


                         AIR TANK
          We follow it being toted along a gravel path and up three
          shallow steps to a trailer door.
          A hand rises to knock. Tubing runs out of the sleeve and
          into the fist clenched to knock. The door rattles under the
          knock. A short beat.
          The hand opens to press the nozzle at the end of the tube
          against the lock cylinder. A sharp report.

                         INSIDE
          A cylinder of brass from the door slams into the far wall
          denting it and drops to the floor and rolls.
          Reverse on the door. Daylight shows through the lock.
          The door swings slowly in and Chigurh, hard backlit, enters.
          He sets the tank down by the door. He looks around.
          He ambles in. He opens a door.
          The bedroom, a messy aftermath of hasty packing.
          The main room. Mail is stacked on the counter that separates
          a kitchen area.
          Chigurh flips unhurriedly through the pieces. One of them is
          a phone bill. He puts it in his pocket.
          He goes to the refrigerator. He opens it. He looks for a
          still beat. He decides.
          He reaches out a quart of milk. He goes to the main room
          sofa and sits. He pinches the spout open and drinks.

                          33

                         
          He looks at himself in the dead gray-green screen of the
          facing television.

          INT. DESERT AIRE OFFICE - DAY

          Chigurh enters. Old plywood paneling, gunmetal desk, litter
          of papers. A window air-conditioner works hard.
          A fifty-year-old woman with a cast-iron hairdo sits behind
          the desk.

                          WOMAN
           Yessir?

                          CHIGURH
           I'm looking for Llewelyn Moss.

                         

                          WOMAN
           Did you go up to his trailer?

                          CHIGURH
           Yes I did.

                          WOMAN
           Well I'd say he's at work. Do you
           want to leave a message?

                          CHIGURH
           Where does he work?

                          WOMAN
           I can't say.

                          CHIGURH
           Where does he work?

                          WOMAN
           Sir I ain't at liberty to give out
           no information about our residents.
          Chigurh looks around the office. He looks at the woman.

                          CHIGURH
           Where does he work?

                          WOMAN
           Did you not hear me? We can't give
           out no information.
          A toilet flushes somewhere. A door unlatches. Footsteps in
          back.

                         
          Chigurh reacts to the noise. He looks at the woman. He turns
          and opens the door and leaves.

                          34

                         

                         

          INT. TRAILWAYS BUS - DAY

          Some of the passengers are getting out. Moss is up in the
          aisle reaching a bag down from the overhead rack. He lifts
          the document case from the floor where Carla Jean still sits
          next to the window.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Why all the way to Del Rio?

                          MOSS
           I'm gonna borrow a car. From Eldon.
          Carla Jean nods at the document case.

                          CARLA JEAN
           You can't afford one?

                          MOSS
           Don't wanna register it. I'll call
           you in a couple days.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Promise?

                          MOSS
           Yes I do.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I got a bad feelin', Llewelyn.

                          MOSS
           Well I got a good one. So they ought
           to even out. Quit worrying about
           everthing.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Mama's gonna raise hell.

                          MOSS
           Uh-huh.

                          CARLA JEAN
           She is just gonna cuss you up'n down.

                          MOSS
           You should be used to that.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I'm used to lots of things, I work
           at Wal-Mart.

                          35

                         

                          MOSS
           Not any more, Carla Jean. You're
           retired.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn?

                          MOSS
           Yes ma'am?

                          CARLA JEAN
           You are comin back, ain't ya?

                          MOSS
           I shall return.

          EXT. MOSS'S TRAILER - DAY


                         
          Wendell is knocking at its door. Sheriff Bell stands one
          step behind him.

                          WENDELL
           Sheriff's Department!
          No answer.

                          BELL
           Look at the lock.
          They both look. A beat.

                          WENDELL
           We goin' in?

                          BELL
           Gun out and up.
          Wendell unholsters his gun but hesitates.

                          WENDELL
           What about yours?

                          BELL
           I'm hidin' behind you.
          Wendell eases the door open.

                          WENDELL
           Sheriff's Department!

          INT. MOSS' TRAILER - DAY


                         
          The men cautiously enter, Wendell leading.

                          36

                         

                          WENDELL
           ...Nobody here.
          He lowers his gun and starts to holster it.

                          BELL
           No reason not to stay safe.
          Wendell keeps the gun out.

                          WENDELL
           No sir.
          He goes to the bedroom door as Sheriff Bell, seeing the lock
          cylinder on the floor, stoops and hefts it.
          He looks up at the wall opposite the door: the small dent.

                         
          Wendell pulls his head out of the bedroom.

                          WENDELL
           ...I believe they've done lit a shuck.

                          BELL
           Believe you're right.

                          WENDELL
           That from the lock?
          Sheriff Bell stands and wanders, looking around.

                          BELL
           Probably must be.

                          WENDELL
           So when was he here?

                          BELL
           I don't know. Oh.
          He is at the counter staring at something.

                          BELL
           ...Now that's aggravating.

                          WENDELL
           Sheriff?
          Sheriff Bell points at the carton of milk.

                          BELL
           Still sweating.
          Wendell is agitated.

                          37

                         

                         

                          WENDELL
           Whoa! Sheriff!
          Sheriff Bell unhurriedly opens a cabinet. He looks closes
          it, opens another.

                          WENDELL
           ...Sheriff, we just missed him! We
           gotta circulate this! On the radio!
          Sheriff Bell takes a glass from the cabinet.

                          BELL
           Well, okay...
          He pours milk into the glass.

                         

                          BELL
           ...What do we circulate?
          He sits on the sofa and takes a sip from the milk.

                          BELL
           ...Lookin' for a man who has recently
           drunk milk?
          Wendell stares at him.

                          WENDELL
           Sheriff, that's aggravating.

                          BELL
           I'm ahead of you there.
          Wendell gazes around the trailer, shaking his head.

                          WENDELL
           You think this boy Moss has got any
           notion of the sorts of sons of bitches
           that are huntin' him?

                          BELL
           I don't know. He ought to...
          Sheriff Bell takes another sip.

                          BELL
           ...He seen the same things I seen
           and it made an impression on me.

                         

          EXT. BUS STATION CAB STAND - DEL RIO - DAY

          Moss emerges from the station and goes to a cab.

                          38

                         

                         
          As he sits in:

                          MOSS
           Take me to a motel.

                          CABBIE
           You got one in mind?

                          MOSS
           Just someplace cheap.

          INT. DEL RIO MOTEL LOBBY - DAY


                         RATE CARD
          The rates for Charlie Goodnight's Del Rio Motor Court are
          under its address of Highway 84 East and an ovalled AAA logo:
           Single Person $24.00
           Double Bed/Couple $27.00
           2 Double Bed/Couple $28.00
           2 Double Bed/3 People $32.00
          Voices play off:

                          WOMAN
           You tell me the option.

                          MOSS
           The what?

                          WOMAN
           The option.
          Wider shows that we are in a motel lobby. A woman faces Moss
          across a Formica counter top She has handed him the framed
          rate card.

                          WOMAN
           ...You pick the option with the
           applicable rate.

                          MOSS
           I'm just one person. Don't matter
           the size of the bed.

          INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY


                          39

                         
          Wide on the room. Twin-bed headboards are fixed to the wall
          but only the far one has a bed parked beneath it. Moss sits
          on the bed, phone to his ear. It rings a couple times.
          He gives up, hangs up, rises.

          INT. BATHROOM - DAY

          Moss stands in front of the mirror, twisted around to examine
          the buckshot wound. He shrugs his shirt back on.
          Holding on the mirror we see him walk back into the main
          room and stop, looking around. He looks slowly up to the
          ceiling.

          INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY


                         

          CLOSE ON A SCREW
          Being unscrewed. Wider shows us Moss, standing on the bed,
          unscrewing the vent on an overhead airduct.
          He gets down off the bed, unzips his duffle bag and takes
          the document case out of it. He opens the case, takes out a
          packet of bills, counts out some money and puts it in his
          pocket. He refastens the case.
          He goes to the window and cuts off a length of the curtain
          cord. He ties the curtain cord to the handle of the document
          case. He goes to the closet, leaving the case on the bed.
          He reaches into the empty closet, lifts the coat rail off
          its supports and lets the hangers slide off onto the floor.

          INT. LOOKING DOWN THE AIRDUCT - DAY

          The duct hums with a low, airy compressor sound. The
          galvanized metal stretches away to a distant elbow. The
          document case is plunked down in the foreground and then
          gently pushed down the length of the tube by the coat pole.
          The free end of the cord trails off the handle for retrieval.

          INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY


                         THE DUFFLE
          Moss unzips it and pulls out the machine pistol and the .45
          that he took off the dead man. He lifts the mattress and
          stashes the machine pistol underneath. He checks the chamber
          of the .45 and stuffs it in his belt.

                          40

                         

          INT. MOTEL ROOM/EXT. PARKING LOT - DAY


                         THE WINDOW
          Moss pulls back one curtain to look out at the lot.
          Nothing there disturbs him.
          He closes the curtains, crossing one over the other.
          He goes out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

          INT. ROADSIDE DINER - DAY


                         PHONE BILL
          A pencil taps at a Del Rio number that repeats on the bill.
          We hear phone-filtered rings.
          The rings are cut off by the clatter of a hang-up. The pencil
          moves to an Odessa number, the only other repeat on the short
          list of toll calls.
          We cut up to Chigurh as he finishes dialing, in the booth of
          a roadside diner. Dusk.
          Phone-filtered rings. Connection; a woman's voice:

                          WOMAN
           Hello?

                          CHIGURH
           Is Llewelyn there?

                          WOMAN
           Llewelyn?! No he ain't.

                          CHIGURH
           You expect him?
          The woman's voice is old, querulous:

                          WOMAN
           Now why would I expect him? Who is
           this?
          Chigurh stares for a short beat, then prongs the phone.

          INT. A SMALL GENERAL STORE - DAY

          Moss is standing in front of a rack of cowboy boots at the
          back of the store. He looks up at an approaching salesman, a
          bow-legged old man in a white shirt.

                          41

                         

                          SALESMAN
           Hep you?

                          MOSS
           I need the Larry Mahan's in black,
           size 11.

                          SALESMAN
           Okay.

                          MOSS
           You sell socks?

                          SALESMAN
           Just white.
          He gathers up a brown paper bag from a pharmacy.

                         

                          MOSS
           White is all I wear. You got a
           bathroom?

          INT. BATHROOM - DAY

          Moss is sitting on the toilet taking off socks with bloody
          soles. Sneakers sit on the floor. The pharmacy bag sits next
          to them.
          He sprays disinfectant on his feet. He takes out bandages.

          INT. SHOE STORE - DAY

          Moss is returning. The bowlegged salesman stands in the aisle
          holding aloft a pair of boots.

                          SALESMAN
           Ain't got Larries in black but I got
           'em in osta-rich. Break in easy.

          INT. CAB/EXT. DEL RIO MOTEL - NIGHT

          It is rolling to a stop in front of Charlie Goodnight's Del
          Rio Motor Hotel.
          Moss fishes for his wallet but stops, looking.
          Parked in the street in front of the motel is an offroad
          truck with roof lights.

                          MOSS
           Don't stop. Just ride me up past the
           rooms.

                          42

                         

                          DRIVER
           What room?

                          MOSS
           Just drive me around. I want to see
           if someone's here.
          The cab rolls slowly up the lot.

                          MOSS
           ...Keep going.
          His pivoting point-of-view of his room. The window shows a
          part between the curtains.

                          MOSS
           ...Keep going. Don't stop.

                         

                          DRIVER
           I don't want to get in some kind of
           a jackpot here, buddy.

                          MOSS
           It's all right.

                          DRIVER
           Why don't I set you down here and we
           won't argue about it.

                          MOSS
           I want you to take me to another
           motel.

                          DRIVER
           Let's just call it square.
          Moss reaches a hundred-dollar bill up to the driver.

                          MOSS
           You're already in a jackpot. I'm
           trying to get you out of it. Now
           take me to a motel.
          The driver reaches up for the bill then turns the cab out of
          the parking lot onto the hiway. Moss turns to look at the
          receding lights of the motel.

          EXT. THROUGHWAY INTERCHANGE - NIGHT


                         PAVEMENT

                         
          Rushing under the lens, lit by headlights.

                          43

                         
          From high up we see a throughway interchange as Chigurh's
          Ramcharger takes the right fork of the highway under a green
          sign for Del Rio.

          INT. THE RAMCHARGER - NIGHT

          Chigurh looks down at the passenger seat. On it lies the
          transponder, powered on but silent. Next to it is a machine
          pistol with a can-shaped silencer sweated onto the barrel.
          The transponder beeps once.
          Chigurh looks up. We are approaching a steel bridge. The
          headlights pick up a large black bird perched on the aluminum
          bridge rail.
          The passenger window hums down.

                         
          Chigurh picks up the pistol and levels the barrel across the
          window frame.
          The truck bumps onto the bridge, its tires skipping over the
          seams in the asphalt. As it draws even the bird spreads its
          wings and Chigurh fires-a muted thump like a whoosh of air.
          From high overhead: the bullet hits the guardrail making it
          hum as the Ramcharger recedes and the bird lifts into the
          darkness, heavily flapping its wings.

          INT. CAFE - MORNING

          Morning. Bell sits drinking coffee. Wendell stands in the
          aisle handing something over.

                          WENDELL
           He labs from Austin on the man by
           the highway.
          Bell takes the papers and starts to look at them.

                          BELL
           What was the bullet?

                          WENDELL
           Wasn't no bullet.
          This brings Bell's look up.

                          BELL
           Wasn't no bullet?

                         

                          WENDELL
           Yessir. Wasn't none.

                          44

                         

                          BELL
           Well, Wendell, with all due respect,
           that don't make a whole lot of sense.

                          WENDELL
           No sir.

                          BELL
           You said entrance wound in the
           forehead, no exit wound.

                          WENDELL
           Yes sir.

                          BELL
           Are you telling me he shot this boy
           in the head and then went fishin'
           around in there with a pocket knife?

                          WENDELL
           Sir, I don't want to picture that.

                          BELL
           Well I don't either!
          A beat during which both men picture it, ended by an arriving
          waitress.

                          WAITRESS
           Can I freshen that there for you
           Sheriff?
          The Sheriff's distressed look swings on to her.

                          BELL
           Yes Noreen you better had. Thank
           you.

                          WENDELL
           The Rangers and DEA are heading out
           to the desert this morning. You gonna
           join 'em?

                          BELL
           I don't know. Any new bodies
           accumulated out there?

                          WENDELL
           No sir.

                          BELL
           Well then I guess I can skip it.
           Heavens to Betsy, Wendell, you already
           put me off my breakfast.

                          45

                         

                         

          EXT. SPORTING GOODS STORE - DAY

          Moss pushes off from the wall he was leaning against: someone
          inside the glass double doors is stooping to unlock them.

          INT. SPORTING GOODS STORE - GUN COUNTER - DAY

          The clerk is handing a shotgun across the counter.

                          CLERK
           Twelve gauge. You need shells? Moss
           looks the gun over.

                          MOSS
           Uh-huh. Double ought.

                         

                          CLERK
           They'll give you a wallop.
          He pushes the shells across.

                          MOSS
           You have camping supplies?

                         ANOTHER COUNTER
          A clerk stares at Moss.

                          CLERK
           Tent poles.

                          MOSS
           Uh-huh.

                          CLERK
           You already have the tent?

                          MOSS
           Somethin' like that.

                          CLERK
           Well you give me the model number of
           the tent I can order you the poles.

                          MOSS
           Never mind. I want a tent.

                          CLERK
           What kind of tent?

                         

                          MOSS
           The kind with the most poles.

                          46

                         

                          CLERK
           Well I guess that'd be our ten-foot
           backyard Per-Gola. You can stand up
           in it. Well, some people could stand
           up in it. Six foot clearance at the
           ridge. You might just could.

                          MOSS
           Let me have that one. Where's the
           nearest hardware store?

          INT. MOSS' NEW MOTEL ROOM - DAY

          He has the shotgun wedged in an open drawer and is sawing
          off its barrel with a hacksaw.

                         MINUTES LATER

                         
          Moss sits on the bed dressing the barrel with a file.
          He puts down the file, looks at the barrel. He slides the
          forearm back and forward again and lets the hammer down with
          his thumb. He looks the gun over, appraising, and then opens
          the box of shells and starts feeding in the heavy waxed loads.

          INT. FIRST MOTEL LOBBY - DAY

          Moss enters carrying a new duffle bag. The same woman is
          behind the counter.

                          MOSS
           Could I get another room.

                          WOMAN
           You want to change rooms?

                          MOSS
           No, I want to keep my room, and get
           another one.

                          WOMAN
           Another additional.

                          MOSS
           Uh-huh.You got a map of the rooms?
          She inclines her head to look under the counter.

                          WOMAN
           Yeah we had a sorta one.

                         
          She finds a brochure and hands it across. It shows a car
          from the fifties parked in front of the hotel in hard
          sunlight.

                          47

                         

                         
          Moss unfolds the brochure and studies.

                          MOSS
           What about one forty-two.

                          WOMAN
           You can have the one next to yours
           if you want. One twenty. It ain't
           took.

                          MOSS
           No, one forty-two.

                          WOMAN
           That's got two double beds.

                         

          EXT. MOTEL PARKING LOT - DAY

          An arcing point of view on the window of Moss's old room.
          The curtain still slightly open.
          A reverse shows Moss crossing the lot from the office carrying
          his long nylon duffle bag, studying the room. He looks
          further down the street.
          The truck with the roof lights is still parked there.

          INT. 2ND MOTEL ROOM

          Two double beds. Moss is listening at the wall. He goes to
          the bed and unzips the duffle bag and pulls out the sawed-
          off shotgun. He lays it on the bed. He pulls the tent poles
          and some duct tape out of the duffle.

          INT. CHIGURH'S TRUCK/TWO LANE HIGHWAY - LATE DAY


                         CHIGURH
          Driving slowly down the street with frequent glances down at
          the receiver on the seat next to him. The receiver lights
          ups and bleeps one time.
          Chigurh slows and looks around at the buildings that line
          the two-lane highway.

          INT. 2ND MOTEL ROOM - LATE DAY

          Moss is standing on a desk chair unscrewing the plate from
          the overhead airduct. He lays it aside and raises a flashlight
          and peers into the airduct.

                          48

                         

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - LATE DAY

          Down the length of the duct we see an elbow junction ten
          feet away. The end of the document case is just visible
          sticking out into the elbow.

                         CHIGURH
          The receiver is bleeping slowly as the car creeps along. Up
          at a distant intersection is Charlie Goodnight's Del Rio
          Motel.

          INT. 2ND MOTEL ROOM

          Moss rips off a length of duct tape. He wraps it around two
          tent poles placed end-to-end but an inch apart, not butting.
          He gives the tape several winds.

                         

          EXT. MOTEL PARKING LOT - LATE DAY


                         CHIGURH
          He is slowly driving the parking lot, the receiver now in
          his lap.
          The beeping frequency peaks and then starts to fall off.
          Chigurh puts the truck in reverse and eases back to the peak.
          His point-of-view: window with parted curtains.

          INT. 2ND MOTEL ROOM - LATE DAY

          Moss experiments with the tape-joint, angling then
          straightening the two poles. Satisfied, he starts taping on
          a third length of pole.

          INT. MOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT

          Chigurh stands across the counter from the clerk who looks
          at him, waiting.
          He is frowning at the rate card.

          INT. CHIGURH'S MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT


                         DOOR
          It swings slowly in toward us. Chigurh stands in the doorway.
          The room-number bangle hangs off the key in the knob.
          He stares in for a beat.

                          49

                         
          He enters slowly and reaches up for the light switch. He
          doesn't turn it on. He drops his hand. He reaches up again,
          feeling it.
          He looks around the room. He takes the key and closes the
          door behind him.

                         MOSS
          Moss pulls three wire hangers off the closet rack. He takes
          them to the bureau and picks up a sidecutter.

                         CHIGURH
          He walks over to the bathroom.
          He turns on its light, looks.

                         
          He leaves the door open. He goes to a closet, opens it, looks.
          He goes to the door of the room but doesn't open it. He stands
          with his back against it and looks at the room.
          The bathroom door.
          The closet door.
          Chigurh goes to the bed and sits to take off his boots.

                         MOSS
          Moss snips the last of the wire hangers' hooks off with the
          sidecutter. He wraps the three hooks with duct tape to make
          a sturdier one.
          He wraps more tape to attach this hook to the end of the
          three-link pole.

                         CHIGURH
          From a bag he withdraws a twelve-gauge automatic shotgun
          fitted with a silencer big around as a beer can.
          He checks the loads.
          He picks up the regularly beeping receiver, turns it off,
          and slips it into his pocket.
          He hoists the air tank.

                          50

                         

                         MOSS
          He is standing on the chair below the airduct, stooping to
          pick up the jury-rigged pole leaning nearby. He straightens
          and feeds the length of the pole into the duct, using the
          joints to angle it in.

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - NIGHT

          Inside the duct: he watches the pole play in, illuminated by
          the flashlight he has left resting inside.

          EXT. MOTEL WALKWAY - NIGHT


                         STOCKINGED FEET
          We track on the feet padding down the exterior walkway.

                         

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - NIGHT


                         MOSS
          Peering along the airduct, both hands up next to one ear
          awkwardly maneuvering the pole.
          He lays the far, hooked end over the protruding corner of
          the document case. He pulls.
          The pole slides off the case.

          EXT./INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT


                         CHIGURH
          He stands at the door of Moss's first room. He eases an ear
          against it.
          He steps back.
          He punches out the lock cylinder with the airgun and kicks
          in the door, raising the shotgun.
          A Mexican in a guyabera reclines on one of the two double
          beds.
          He is scrabbling for a machine pistol on the nightstand.
          Chigurh fires three times quickly. The damped blasts have
          the low resonance of chugs into a bottle.

                         MOSS

                         
          Head still in the airduct, frozen, listening.

                          51

                         

          EXT./INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT


                         CHIGURH
          Also frozen, back against the wall outside the room, to one
          side of the open door.
          After a beat he steps back into the open doorway leveling
          the gun.
          Inside the room: no movement. Much of the man on the bed is
          spattered against the chewed-up headboard.
          The bathroom door is ajar, its light on.
          A long beat.

                         
          Movement in the wedge of light.
          Immediately, chugs from the shotgun chew up bathroom door
          and nearby wallboard.
          A cry from inside. A brief chatter of machine pistol.

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - NIGHT


                         MOSS'S POV
          Along the air vent.
          The machine-pistol chatter crosses the cut.
          We hear bullets snap through metal. The sound brings on
          indirect light as holes are punched in the duct somewhere
          around the bend.
          Moss holds still as the galvanized metal faintly thunders.
          The flashlight resting on it wobbles.

          EXT./INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT


                         CHIGURH
          Gun leveled, at the open door.
          Again, no movement.
          He advances into the room, gun pointing at the bathroom door.
          As he advances he swings the gun briefly over at the closet
          door and fires. The splintered-in door reveals no occupant.

                         
          Chigurh angles around the double bed to get a view of that
          wedge of bathroom floor visible through its door. Blood is
          pooling out from the right.

                          52

                         

                         
          Chigurh fires at the baseboard to the right of the door.

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - NIGHT

          Moss makes another attempt to hook the bag. The hook takes.
          Moss drags the case inches out into the duct's bend before
          the hook slides off again.

          INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM BATHROOM - NIGHT


                         CHIGURH
          He uses the shotgun barrel to push open what's left of the
          bathroom door.

                         
          The mirror over the facing sink gives a view of most of the
          hidden side of the bedroom/ bathroom party wall. Partial
          view of a man pressed against the wall, standing in the tub
          in the corner. From his posture and the one visible hand he
          seems unarmed.
          Chigurh enters the bathroom.
          The cornered man is unhurt but terrified. He holds up his
          hands.

                          MAN
           No me mate.
          The man on the floor is quite dead. A machine pistol lies in
          one out-flung hand.
          Chigurh looks back up at the survivor.

                          CHIGURH
           How'd you find it?

                          MAN
           No me mate.
          Chigurh walks unhurriedly to the tub. The man watches him,
          hands up, vibrating.
          Chigurh reaches with his free hand and pulls the shower
          curtain most of the way round, hiding the man. He angles the
          nose of the shotgun in and fires.

                         MOSS

                         
          The hook again snags a strap on the case. Moss pulls,
          carefully.

                          53

                         

          INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM - MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

          Chigurh emerges from the bathroom. His socks are sodden with
          gore. He sits on the bed and peels them off. He rubs the
          bottom of each foot with the ankle of each sock and drops
          the socks to the floor.
          He rises and opens three bureau drawers, which are empty,
          and leaves them open.
          He pulls open what remains of the closet door. Empty.
          He looks under the bed.
          He stands, looks around.
          He looks up. His look lingers.

                         
          Close on the airduct grille: it is dusty. Rub-marks have
          made four dark bands across the dusty slats. Chigurh's fingers
          rise into frame and meet the grille, roughly aligning with
          the finger marks in the dust.
          Close on a screwhead: a dime enters and engages the screw
          and starts turning it.

          INT. MOTEL DUCT - NIGHT

          From inside the duct: fingers reach through the grille and
          Chigurh's hand pushes it up into the duct, then angles it
          and withdraws it. Faintly, under the distant airy drone of
          the compressor, we hear the grate clatter to the floor.
          The back of Chigurh's head appears. He aims a flashlight
          away down the far length of the duct. A beat.
          He pivots to face us.
          His point-of-view: the length of the duct, empty, with a
          drag-mark through the middle of the dust.
          Back to Chigurh. His look holds.
          He ducks out.

          INT. 1ST MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

          In the room: Chigurh steps down from the chair and pulls the
          receiver from his pocket and turns it on.
          It beeps once.

                         
          Silence.

                          54

                         
          Frowning, looking down at the receiver, Chigurh makes a slow
          sweep with it. The silence holds-snapped off by car steady
          as we cut to:

          INT. STATION WAGON - NIGHT

          Moss, with his duffle bag and document case, sits in the
          passenger seat of an old station wagon. The driver is an
          elderly man in a yoked shirt.
          After a beat, eyes fixed on the road, the old man shakes his
          head.

                          OLD MAN
           Shouldn't be doin' that. Even a young
           man like you.

                         
          Moss gives him a look. A beat.

                          MOSS
           Doin' what. The old man gazes at the
           road.

                          OLD MAN
           Hitchhikin'.
          He shakes his head again. Silent driving. The old man murmurs:

                          OLD MAN
           Dangerous.

          EXT. DOWNTOWN HOUSTON - DAY


                         BOOMING UP
          We are looking out as a foreground building slips by and we
          rise to get an ever-higher perspective on downtown Houston,
          hazy under a noon sun.

          INT. OFFICE - DAY

          A man standing behind a large desk-behind him, floor-to-
          ceiling windows-has no small talk for Carson Wells, the man
          entering.

                          MAN
           You know Anton Chigurh by sight, is
           that correct?
          Carson Wells sits in front of the desk, his manner affable.
          He rests a booted foot across one knee.

                          55

                         

                          WELLS
           Yessir, that's correct. I know 'em
           when I see 'em.

                          MAN
           When did you last see him.

                          WELLS
           November the 28th, last year.

                          MAN
           You seem pretty sure of the date.
           Did I ask you to sit?

                          WELLS
           No sir but you struck me as a man
           who wouldn't want to waste a chair.
           I remember dates. Names. Numbers. I
           saw him on November 28th.
          The man gazes. He nods.

                          MAN
           We got a loose cannon here. And we're
           out a bunch of money, and the other
           party is out his product.

                          WELLS
           Yessir. I understand that.
          The man looks at him, appraising. He nods again and slides a
          bank card across the table.

                          MAN
           This account will only give up twelve
           hundred dollars in any twenty-four
           hour period. That's up from a
           thousand.
          Wells rises to take the card and then reseats himself.

                          WELLS
           Yessir.

                          MAN
           If your expenses run higher I hope
           you'll trust us for it.

                          WELLS
           Okay.

                         

                          MAN
           How well do you know Chigurh.

                          56

                         

                          WELLS
           Well enough.

                          MAN
           That's not an answer.

                          WELLS
           What do you want to know?

                          MAN
           I'd just like to know your opinion
           of him. In general. Just how dangerous
           is he?
          Wells shrugs.

                          WELLS
           Compared to what? The bubonic plague?
           He's bad enough that you called me.
           He's a psychopathic killer but so
           what? There's plenty of them around.
          A beat.

                          MAN
           He killed three men in a motel in
           Del Rio yesterday. And two others at
           that colossal goatfuck out in the
           desert.

                          WELLS
           Okay. We can stop that.

                          MAN
           You seem pretty sure of yourself.
           You've led something of a charmed
           life haven't you Mr. Wells?
          Wells rises.

                          WELLS
           In all honesty I can't say that charm
           has had a whole lot to do with it.
          He thumps once at his chest.

                          WELLS
           ...I'm wondering...

                          MAN
           Yes?

                         

                          WELLS
           Can I get my parking ticket validated?

                          57

                         

                         
          The man gazes.

                          MAN
           ...An attempt at humor, I suppose.

                          WELLS
           I'm sorry.

                          MAN
           Goodbye, Mr. Wells.

          EXT. EAGLE PASS TOWN SQUARE - DUSK

          Moss is getting out of the station wagon with his duffle and
          document case.

                         
          It is a town square. Among the old buildings is the Hotel
          Eagle, identified by a neon above the front door.

          INT. HOTEL EAGLE LOBBY - NIGHT

          Moss enters. Behind the front desk an older man sits reading
          Ring magazine. He has a hand-rolled cigarette.

                          MOSS
           One room, one night.

                          CLERK
           That's twenty-six dollars.

                          MOSS
           You on all night?

                          CLERK
           Yessir, be here til ten tomorrow
           morning.
          Moss pushes a hundred along with smaller bills across the
          desk.

                          MOSS
           For you. I ain't asking you to do
           anything illegal.
          The clerk looks at the hundred-dollar bill without reaching.

                          CLERK
           I'm waitin' to hear your description
           of that.

                          58

                         

                          MOSS
           There's somebody lookin' for me. Not
           police. Just call me if anyone else
           checks in tonight.

          INT. SECOND-FLOOR HALLWAY - NIGHT

          Moss is mounting the stairs from the lobby. The carpeted
          hallway is lined by transom-topped doors. Moss goes to a
          door halfway down on his left.

          INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

          Moss enters a room with old oak furniture and high ceilings.
          He sets the document case next to the bed.
          He unzips the duffel and takes out the shotgun which he lays
          on the bed, and then goes to the window. He parts the curtain
          to look down.
          The street is empty. Mexican music floats up faintly from a
          bar somewhere not far away.

          INT. HOTEL ROOM - LATER

          The room is dark. The music is gone.
          We are looking straight down on Moss lying, clothed, on the
          bed. We are booming straight down toward him.
          After a beat he shakes his head. He opens his eyes,
          grimacing.

                          MOSS
           There just ain't no way.
          He sits up and turns on the bedside lamp.
          The shot gun and document case are on the floor by the bed.
          Moss swings the document case onto the bed and unclasps it
          and upends the money onto the bed. He feels the bottom of
          the case, squeezing it with one hand inside and one hand
          out, looking for a false bottom. He eyeballs the case, turning
          it over and around.
          He starts riffling money packets.
          He finds one that binds. It has hundreds on the outside but
          ones inside with the centers cut out. In the hollow is a
          sending unit the size of a Zippo lighter.

                         
          He holds the sender, staring at it.
          A long beat.

                          59

                         

                         
          From somewhere, a dull chug. The sound is hard to read-a
          compressor going on, a door thud, maybe something else.
          The sound has brought Moss's look up. He sits listening. No
          further sound.
          Moss reaches to uncradle the rotary phone by the bed. He
          dials 0.
          We hear ringing filtered through the handset. Also, faintly,
          offset, we hear the ring direct from downstairs.
          After five rings Moss cradles the phone.
          He goes to the door, reaches for the knob, but hesitates.

                         
          He gets down on his hands and knees and listens at the crack
          under the door.
          An open airy sound like a seashell put to your ear.
          Moss rises and turns to the bed. He piles money back into
          the document case but freezes suddenly-for no reason we can
          see.
          A long beat on his motionless back. We gradually become aware
          of a faint high-frequency beeping, barely audible. Its source
          is indeterminate.
          Moss clasps the document case, picks up his shotgun and eases
          himself to a sitting position on the bed, facing the door.
          He looks at the line of light under it.
          The beeps approach, though still not loud. A long wait.
          At length a soft shadow appears in the line of light below
          the door. It lingers there. The beeping-stops.
          A beat. Now the soft shadow becomes more focused. It resolves
          into two columns of dark: feet planted before the door.
          Moss raises his shotgun toward the door.
          A long beat.
          Moss adjusts his grip on the shotgun and his finger tightens
          on the trigger.
          The shadow moves, unhurriedly, rightward. The band of light
          beneath the door is once again unshadowed.
          Quiet. Moss stares.

                          60

                         

                         
          The band of light under the door.
          Moss stares.
          Silently, the light goes out.
          Something for Moss to think about. He stares.
          The hallway behind the door is now dark. The door is defined
          only from his side, by streetlight-spill through the window.
          Moss stares. He shifts, starts to rise, doesn't. A beat.
          A report -- not a gunshot, but a stamping sound, followed by
          a pneumatic hiss.

                         
          It brings a dull impact and Moss recoils, hit.
          He winces, feeling his chest.
          The door is shuddering creakily in.
          It is all strange. Moss gropes in his lap and picks something
          up. The lock cylinder.
          The creaking door comes to rest, ajar.
          Moss fires. The shotgun blast roars in the confined space
          and for an instant turns the room orange. The chewed-up door
          wobbles back against the jamb and creakily bounces in again.
          Moss has already risen and is hoisting the document case.

          FROM OUTSIDE HIS WINDOW
          Moss finishes draping his shotgun by its strap across his
          back and climbs out onto the ledge with the document case.
          He swings the document case out and drops it.
          The bracketing for the hotel's sign gives Moss a handhold.
          He grabs it as inside the room the door is kicked open. Moss
          swings down as, with a muted thump, orange muzzleflash strobes
          the room.
          Moss drops.

          EXT. HOTEL EAGLE SIDEWALK - NIGHT

          Moss lands and grabs the document case and straightens. He
          is at the hotel entrance, standing in the light coming through
          the etched glass of the double doors.

                          61

                         
          He looks at his own shadow thrown onto the street. He plunges
          through the doors into the lobby as a gun thumps and crackling
          shot chews the sidewalk.

          INT. LOBBY - NIGHT

          Moss hurries across the lobby. A glance to one side:
          A booted foot sticks out from behind the front desk.
          Moss slows approaching the stairway. He risks a look around
          the stairway wall.
          Ascending balusters fade off into the blackness of the second-
          story hallway.
          Moss sags. He looks back across the lobby at the front door.

                         
          He unhitches his shotgun. He remains still for a moment
          holding the shotgun, back against the protected side of the
          wall.
          He quickly swings out and with shotgun aimed up the stairs
          he crosses to the back lobby.
          He quietly pushes open the back door.

          EXT. SERVICE ALLEY - NIGHT


                         OUTSIDE
          Moss emerges into a shallow service alley, dark and dirty.
          He is at a run when we hear soft tock and a garbage can in
          front of him snaps and wobbles.
          He turns looking up, backpedaling. Another tock accompanies
          a muzzleflash in a dark second-story window.
          Moss fires his shotgun: loud. Chips fly off the brickface
          and the window shatters.
          Moss rounds the alley corner. He stops and squats.

          EXT. DOWNTOWN EAGLE PASS STREET - NIGHT

          Wide: dark, deserted downtown Eagle Pass, Moss a lone figure
          resting at a corner.
          Close on Moss panting. He takes stock, painfully feeling at
          his upper chest where the lock hit, then touching gingerly
          at his side, beneath the ribs, newly bloody. He sighs.

                          62

                         
          He listens. No noise. He gets to his feet with the document
          case in one hand and shotgun in the other. He waits a beat,
          back against the wall.
          He swings out and fires the shotgun into the alley and then
          spins back and runs a short block and rounds the next corner
          and stops to rest.

          EXT. EAGLE PASS STREET - NIGHT

          He waits for his breath to slow. He brings up the shotgun
          and readies himself.
          He swings out to look back around the corner.
          The street is empty.

                         
          He waits, at the ready for whatever might emerge from the
          alley mouth a short block away.
          Long beat. Stillness.
          A panicky thought brings his look and the shotgun swinging
          back around: the man could round the block the other way.
          Empty street.
          Two empty streets: Moss doesn't know which way to cover,
          which way to go.
          He stands looking each way, trying to devise a plan. No basis
          for a plan.
          Quiet hesitation.
          Now, a sound: engine noise.
          An old pickup rounds a corner two blocks up. It rattles toward
          him.
          Moss lowers the shotgun. He keeps it to the hidden side of
          his body.
          The pickup dutifully stops at a flashing red traffic light.
          It comes on through the intersection.
          Moss strides out into the street. He swings the shotgun up
          and gives the driver a raised palm to halt.

          INT. PICKUP/EXT. EAGLE PASS STREET - NIGHT


                         
          The truck stops and Moss opens the passenger door and swings
          the case in and climbs in after.

                          63

                         

                         
          The driver, an older man, gapes at him, frightened.

                          MOSS
           I'm not going to hurt you. I need
           you to --
          The windshield stars.
          A quick second round pushes part of the windshield in.
          Rounds come in without pause, cracking sheet metal, blowing
          the cab's rear window into the truckbed, twisting the rear-
          view.
          A round seems to have caught the driver in the throat: a
          gurgling scream as he claws at his windpipe, blowing out
          blood.
          Moss, quicker to react, has already ducked below the dash.
          A snap of the driver's head and a new freshet of blood from
          a shot to the head. The screams turn to low gurgles.
          Moss, jammed almost in to the driver's lap, frantically gropes
          for the shift.
          He throws the pickup into drive and stamps at the accelerator,
          driving blind as bullets continue to pour in.
          He raises his head enough to see his side-view. It shows
          sluing, bouncing, empty street, rough guide for steering.
          A tremendous jounce up onto the curb then off it, the driver's
          body swaying in its restraint.
          The passenger side window shatters: we are passing the gunman.
          Now Moss sits up to steer looking out front. Behind him
          through the shot-out back window the dark street is suddenly
          punctured by muzzleflash. It comes, for the first time, with
          a report: the low chug of the muted shotgun.
          Rattle of shot against sheet metal.
          Moss floors the gas to roar into a turn. The street sweeping
          out of view behind him produces one more chugging muzzleflash.

          EXT. EAGLE PASS STREET - NIGHT

          The pickup bounces but Moss, sitting fully up, can now steer.

                          64

                         
          He goes half the length of the block and then yanks the wheel
          hard, braking. The pickup smashes a parked car and jacks
          around to a halt.
          Moss emerges from the pickup with his shotgun and goes to
          the sidewalk and backtracks. He covers behind a parked car.
          He sits leaning back against the car, waiting.
          His point-of-view: his own reflection in the facing
          storefront, a lot of the driver's blood on him.
          He sinks lower.
          A long beat.
          Footsteps. They approach without hurry.

                         
          A gritty boot turn at the corner. The footsteps come closer
          still.
          They pass and recede toward the pickup.
          We cut to Chigurh approaching the pickup, shotgun held at
          ease across his body.
          He slows.
          Moss: he hears the slowing steps. He tightens his grip on
          his shotgun and tenses.
          Chigurh: slowing further, he sees:
          Bloody boot prints outside the passenger door.
          Moss rises.
          Chigurh is turning.
          He dives as, behind him, Moss fires.
          Shot peppers two parked cars -- the one Moss rammed and the
          one behind.
          Chigurh dived between them: hit or not?
          Moss advances down the middle of the street. He angles his
          head: anything under the cars?
          He fires twice. Buckshot claws up the pavement and the car
          bodies and tires, and the cars sink hissing to their rims.

                         
          Moss crosses to the far curb, still advancing. No one behind
          the cars.

                          65

                         

                         
          He looks up and down the street.
          Nothing to see.
          He goes to the pickup truck, driver's side. He opens the
          door and reaches over the driver's corpse for his lap belt.

          EXT. EAGLE PASS BORDER AREA - NIGHT

          Deserted.
          The pickup truck rattles into frame.
          Moss emerges. He hoists out the case. He leaves the shotgun.
          It is very quiet.

                         
          He looks around.
          The Rio Grande bridge.
          Moss walks unsteadily toward it, pressing his free hand to
          his side.
          A thought stops him. He turns.
          His bloody boot prints point at him like comic book clues.
          His shoulders sag.

          EXT. RIO GRANDE BRIDGE - NIGHT

          Minutes later. Moss heads down the right-hand walkway in
          stockinged feet, boots tucked into his belt.
          He turns and looks back toward the U.S. side.
          Empty walkway.
          He proceeds on. Three youths are approaching from the Mexican
          side. Fart types, they are laughing and walking unsteadily.
          As they approach they gape at Moss, covered with blood.
          The lead boy, holding a beer, wears a light coat.

                          MOSS
           I'll give you five hundred bucks for
           your shirt and your coat.

                         
          The three boys stare at him.

                         AT LENGTH:

                          66

                         

                         

                          YOUTH
           Let's see the money.
          Moss unpeels bills from a moist wad. The top one is bloody.

                          SECOND YOUTH
           ...Were you in a car accident?

                          MOSS
           Yeah.

                          YOUTH
           Okay, lemme have the money.

                          MOSS
           It's right here. Give me the coat.

                         

                          YOUTH
           Lemme hold the money.
          Moss does.

                          MOSS
           Gimme the clothes.
          The youth starts to peel them.

                          MOSS
           ...And let me have your beer.

                          YOUTH
           ...How much?

                          SECOND YOUTH
           Brian. Give him the beer.

                         MINUTES LATER
          The boys are receding. Moss pours the beer over his head,
          rubbing blood away.
          He opens his shirt. He inspects the wounds in his midriff,
          entrance and exit. Pulsing blood laps weakly out. He shrugs
          off his shirt, wraps it around his waist and knots it.
          He starts to put on the new shirt. Something stops him. He
          pauses.
          He vomits into the roadbed.

                         
          He straightens slowly and puts on the new shirt.
          He looks out.

                          67

                         

                         
          He is not yet over the river: wind stirs the cane on the
          bank.
          He looks up: Chain-link fence encloses the walkway to a height
          of about twelve feet, curling inward at the top.
          He looks down the walkway. The three boys are distant figures.
          He looks up the walkway.
          A few paces up a light pole stanchion stands flush to the
          guardrail that separates road and walkway.
          He goes to the stanchion and uses it to hoist himself onto
          the guardrail, his free hand holding the case.

                         
          Standing on top of the curved metal rail and holding the
          post for balance, he kneebends down and up and heaves the
          case.
          It sails clear of the chain-link fence. A short beat and we
          hear a thump.
          Moss pants for a moment, recovering from the strain of the
          toss. He eases himself off the guardrail and goes to the
          fence and looks at the bank below. One gnarled tree stands
          out in the cane. The case, wherever it landed, is not visible.

          EXT. GUARDSHACK MEXICAN SIDE - NIGHT

          There is a lighted guardshack at the end of the walkway.
          Inside, a uniformed guard.
          Moss walks unsteadily up. He tilts the beer bottle in salute
          at the guard.
          The guard impassively lets him proceed.

          EXT. MEXICAN SQUARE - DAWN


                         BLACK
          In black, an insanely cheerful mariachi song.
          Fade in on the mariachis. We are looking steeply up at them,
          dutch-angled. They beam down at us, energetically thumping
          their oversized guitars and bajo sextos.
          We boom woozily up and start to un-dutch.

                         
          Reverse on Moss struggling to a sitting position on the park
          bench where he'd been lying. A public square.

                          68

                         
          Back to the mariachis. Beaming, singing.
          Their smiles gradually fade.
          The playing falls off to silence.
          In the silence, birds chirp. The musicians are looking
          quizzically down.
          Moss's arm swings up in the foreground, extending a bloody
          hundred-dollar bill.
          On Moss. His coat has swung open to expose his bloody midriff.
          His look up is glazed.

                          MOSS
           Doctor.

                         
          The mariachis stare. Moss waggles the bill.

                          MOSS
           ...Medico. Por favor.

          INT. RAMCHARGER/EXT. WAL-MART - DAY

          We are close on a patch of its front seat. Day. The pickup
          is parked. The piece of upholstery we are looking at has
          blood soaked into it.
          On the sound of the door opening we cut wider. We are in the
          parking lot of a Wal-Mart. Chigurh, climbing in, tosses a
          brown paper bag onto the passenger side. He has a dark towel
          wrapped around one leg. As he slides behind the wheel the
          wrapped part of his leg slides over the bloodstain.

          INT. RAMCHARGER/EXT. PHARMACY - DAY


          TRAVELING POINT OF VIEW
          A small-town main street. We are driving past a pharmacy.
          Chigurh, looking.
          He parks.
          He takes a scissors from the Wal-Mart bag and a box of cotton.
          He opens the box and cuts a little disc out of the cardboard.
          He takes a new shirt out of the bag and begins to cut through
          one sleeve.

                          69

                         

          EXT. PHARMACY - DAY


          SHOOTING PAST A PARKED CAR
          Chigurh limps toward us. He holds a coat hanger bent straight
          with the balled-up shirtsleeve hooked at one end.
          Chigurh arrives, looks up and down the street.
          He unscrews the gas cap, feeds the coat hanger in to soak
          the shirt, pulls it back out. He tapes the cardboard disc
          over the open gas tank. He unhooks the wet shirtsleeve and
          jams it up over the disk. He lights it and exits.

          INSIDE THE PHARMACY - DAY
          A beat pulling Chigurh limping up the aisle, and then the
          car explodes out front. The plate glass storefront blows in.
          The few people inside rush out; Chigurh doesn't react.
          The pharmacy counter in back is deserted. Chigurh lifts a
          hinged piece of counter to enter and starts looking through
          the stock.
          He pulls out a packet of syringes, Hydrocodone tablets,
          penicillin.

          INT. SMALL TOWN MOTEL ROOM - DAY

          Chigurh dumps the pharmaceuticals into the bathroom sink.
          In the room outside he sits on the bed and takes off his
          boots. He unknots the towel from around his leg and stands
          and unbuttons his pants and starts cutting from the crotch
          down with a heavy scissors. One thigh is a mess of clotted
          blood and torn fabric.

          INT. MOTEL BATHROOM - DAY


                         BATH
          Chigurh lowers himself into bath water that quickly turns
          pink. He laves water over his bloody thigh. There is a dark
          red hole, one half inch across, pulsing blood into the bath
          water Torn pieces of fabric from his pants are embedded in
          the bleeding skin.

          A SHAVING MIRROR
          We are looking at the wound in a magnifying mirror. Forceps
          enter and pluck a tiny piece of blood-soaked fabric from the
          skin.

                          70

                         

                         RUNNING WATER
          A bathroom tap. The forceps enter. They are rinsed, shaken
          off.
          Wider: Chigurh sits on the closed toilet with the mirror
          sitting on the edge of the tub, angled toward the wound.
          Chigurh works on cleaning it.

          INT. SMALL TOWN MOTEL ROOM - DAY

          The main room. The TV is on now. Chigurh enters from the
          bathroom with his leg bandaged. He sits on the bed and tears
          open the packaging of a syringe.
          He plunges it into an ampule of penicillin.

                         
          He injects himself.

          INT. SHERIFF'S OFFICE - DAY

          Sheriff Bell sits writing in a large leatherette checkbook.

                         HE PROJECTS:

                          BELL
           Anything on those vehicles yet?
          A raised female voice from the front office:

                          VOICE
           Sheriff I found out everything there
           was to find. Those vehicles are titled
           and registered to deceased people.
          Molly, the secretary, appears at the doorway.

                          VOICE
           ...The owner of that Blazer died
           twenty years ago. Did you want me to
           see what I could find out about the
           Mexican ones?

                          BELL
           No. Lord no.
          He holds out the checkbook.

                          BELL
           ...This month's checks.

                          MOLLY
           That DEA agent called again. You
           don't want to talk to him?

                          71

                         

                          BELL
           I'm goin' to try and keep from it as
           much as I can.

                          MOLLY
           He's goin' back out there and he
           wanted to know if you wanted to go
           with him.
          Sheriff Bell is putting things away.

                          BELL
           Well that's cordial of him. I guess
           he can go wherever he wants. He's a
           certified agent of the United States
           Government.

                         
          He rises.

                          BELL
           ...Could I get you to call Loretta
           and tell her I've gone to Odessa?
           goin' to visit with Carla Jean Moss.

                          MOLLY
           Yes Sheriff.

                          BELL
           I'll call Loretta when I get there.
           I'd call now but she'll want me to
           come home and I just might.

                          MOLLY
           You want me to wait til you've quit
           the building?

                          BELL
           Yes I do. You don't want to lie
           without what it's absolutely
           necessary.
          Molly trails him into the front office.

                          BELL
           ...What is it that Torbert says?
           About truth and justice?

                          MOLLY
           We dedicate ourselves daily anew.
           Something like that.

                          72

                         

                          BELL
           I think I'm goin' to commence
           dedicatin' myself twice daily. It
           may come to three times before it's
           over...
          A loud truck-by from the street outside. Sheriff Bell's eyes
          track the passing vehicle.

                          BELL
           ...What the hell?

          EXT. STREET - DAY

          Sanderson outskirts.
          Sheriff Bell passes a flatbed truck with a flapping tarp and
          briefly blurps his siren to pull it over. He parks on the
          shoulder in front of the truck and then walks back to the
          driver who watches his approach, chewing gum with blithe
          unconcern.

                          DRIVER
           Sheriff.

                          BELL
           Have you looked at your load lately?

          A MINUTE LATER
          Both men are at the back of the truck.

                          BELL
           That's a damned outrage.

                          DRIVER
           Oh. One of the tiedowns worked lose.
          Bell whips the tarp back to expose eight corpses wrapped
          blue sheeting bound with tape.

                          BELL
           How many did you leave with?
          The driver is still smiling.

                          DRIVER
           I ain't lost none of 'em, Sheriff.

                          BELL
           Couldn't you all of took a van out
           there?

                          73

                         

                          DRIVER
           Didn't have no van with four-wheel
           drive.
          Sheriff Bell pulls the tarp down and ties it. The driver
          watches without helping.

                          DRIVER
           ...You going to write me up for
           improperly secured load?
          Sheriff Bell cinches the knot tight.

                          BELL
           You get your ass out of here.

          INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY


                         
          Moss, in bed, stirs at an off screen voice:

                          VOICE
           I'm guessin'... this is not the future
           you pictured for yourself when you
           first clapped eyes on that money.
          Moss blearily focuses on:
          A fancy crocodile boot.
          His look rises from the boot, crossed on his visitor's knee,
          up to the man's face.
          Carson Wells smiles at him from the bedside chair.

                          WELLS
           ...Don't worry. I'm not the man that's
           after you.

                          MOSS
           I know, I've seen him. Sort of.
          Wells is surprised.

                          WELLS
           You've seen him. And you're not dead.
          He nods, impressed.

                          WELLS
           ...But that won't last.

                         

                          MOSS
           What is he supposed to be, the
           ultimate bad-ass?

                          74

                         

                         

                          WELLS
           I don't think that's how I would
           describe him.

                          MOSS
           How would you describe him?

                          WELLS
           I guess I'd say... that he doesn't
           have a sense of humor. His name is
           Chigurh.

                          MOSS
           Sugar?

                          WELLS
           Chigurh. Anton Chigurh. You know how
           he found you?

                          MOSS
           I know how he found me.

                          WELLS
           It's called a transponder.

                          MOSS
           I know what it is. He won't find me
           again.

                          WELLS
           Not that way.

                          MOSS
           Not any way.

                          WELLS
           Took me about three hours.

                          MOSS
           I been immobile.

                          WELLS
           No. You don't understand.
          Wells sits back and studies Moss.

                          WELLS
           ...What do you do?

                          MOSS
           I'm retired.

                          75

                         

                          WELLS
           What did you do?

                          MOSS
           I'm a welder.

                          WELLS
           Acetylene? Mig? Tig?

                          MOSS
           Any of it. If it can be welded I can
           weld it.

                          WELLS
           Cast iron?

                          MOSS
           Yes.

                          WELLS
           I don't mean braze.

                          MOSS
           I didn't say braze.

                          WELLS
           Pot metal?

                          MOSS
           What did I say?

                          WELLS
           Were you in Nam?

                          MOSS
           Yeah. I was in Nam.

                          WELLS
           So was I.

                          MOSS
           So what does that make me? Your buddy?
          Wells sits smiling at him.
          A beat.

                          WELLS
           Look. You need to give me the money.
           I've got no other reason to protect
           you.

                          76

                         

                          MOSS
           Too late. I spent it -- about a
           million and a half on whores and
           whiskey and the rest of it I just
           sort of blew it in.
          Wells' smile stays in place.

                          WELLS
           How do you know he's not on his way
           to Odessa?
          Moss stares at him. A beat.

                          MOSS
           Why would he go to Odessa?

                         

                          WELLS
           To kill your wife.
          Another beat.

                          MOSS
           Maybe he should be worried. About
           me.

                          WELLS
           He isn't. You're not cut out for
           this. You're just a guy that happened
           to find those vehicles.
          Moss doesn't respond.

                          WELLS
           ...You didn't take the product, did
           you?

                          MOSS
           What product.

                          WELLS
           The heroin. You don't have it.

                          MOSS
           No I don't have it.

                          WELLS
           No. You don't.
          He rises.

                          77

                         

                          WELLS
           ...I'm across the river. At the Hotel
           Eagle. Carson Wells. Call me when
           you've had enough. I can even let
           you keep a little of the money.

                          MOSS
           If I was cuttin' deals, why wouldn't
           I go deal with this guy Chigurh?

                          WELLS
           No no. No. You don't understand. You
           can't make a deal with him. Even if
           you gave him the money he'd still
           kill you. He's a peculiar man. You
           could even say that he has principles.
           Principles that transcend money or
           drugs or anything like that. He's
           not like you. He's not even like me.

                          MOSS
           He don't talk as much as you, I give
           him points for that.

          INT. COFFEE SHOP - ODESSA - DAY

          Sheriff Bell rises from a booth, taking off his hat.

                          BELL
           Carla Jean, I thank you for comin'.
          She sits. He sits.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Don't know why I did. I told you, I
           don't know where he is.

                          BELL
           You ain't heard from him?

                          CARLA JEAN
           No I ain't.

                          BELL
           Nothin'?

                          CARLA JEAN
           Not word one.

                          BELL
           Would you tell me if you had?

                          78

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           Well, I don't know. He don't need
           any trouble from you.

                          BELL
           It's not me he's in trouble with.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Who's he in trouble with then?

                          BELL
           Some pretty bad people.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn can take care of hisself.

                          BELL
           These people will kill him, Carla
           Jean. They won't quit.

                          CARLA JEAN
           He won't neither. He never has.

                          BELL
           I wish I could say that was in his
           favor. But I have to say I don't
           think it is.

                          CARLA JEAN
           He can take all comers.
          Bell looks at her. After a beat:

                          BELL
           You know Charlie Walser? Has the
           place east of Sanderson?
          She shakes her head, shrugs.

                          BELL
           ...Well you know how they used to
           slaughter beeves, hit 'em with a
           maul right here to stun 'em...
          Indicates between his own eyes.

                          79

                         

                          BELL
           ...and then truss 'em up and slit
           their throats? Well here Charlie has
           one trussed up and all set to drain
           him and the beef comes to. It starts
           thrashing around, six hundred pounds
           of very pissed-off livestock if you'll
           pardon my... Charlie grabs his gun
           there to shoot the damn thing in the
           head but what with the swingin' and
           twistin' it's a glance-shot and
           ricochets around and comes back hits
           Charlie in the shoulder. You go see
           Charlie, he still can't reach up
           with his right hand for his hat...
           Point bein', even in the contest
           between man and cow the issue is not
           certain.
          He takes a sip of coffee, leaving room for Carla Jean to
          argue if inclined.
          She does not.
          Sheriff Bell hands a card across.

                          BELL
           ...When Llewelyn calls, just tell
           him I can make him safe.
          She takes the card. Sheriff Bell sips.

                          BELL
           ...Course, they slaughter beeves
           different now. Use a air gun. Shoots
           out a rod, about this far into the
           brain...
          He holds thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart.

                          BELL
           ...Sucks back in. Animal never knows
           what hit him.
          Another beat. Carla Jean stares at him.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Why you tellin' me that, Sheriff?

                          BELL
           I don't know. My mind wanders.

                          80

                         

          EXT. RIO GRANDE BRIDGE - AFTERNOON

          Late Day.
          Carson Wells grabs a light pole stanchion to hoist himself
          onto the guardrail. He stands atop it, eyeing the chain-link
          fence across the walkway.
          He climbs down and crosses to the fence and looks down:
          The brown, sluggish water of the Rio Grande.

          LOOKING DOWN THE WALKWAY
          Carson Wells enters frame and recedes down the walkway.
          When he draws even with the next stanchion he looks down
          through the fence:

                         
          Cane on the riverbank, and one gnarled tree.

          INT. HOTEL EAGLE LOBBY - NIGHT

          Twilight. Carson Wells enters the hotel and crosses the lobby.

          INT. STAIRWAY - NIGHT

          Carson Wells appears around the corner and we pull him as he
          mounts the stairs. When he is about halfway up a figure --
          focus does not hold him -- rounds the corner behind and
          silently follows, holding a fat-barreled shotgun loosely at
          his side.
          After a few steps Carson Wells stops, frowning, cued by we
          don't know what. Focus drops back as he turns. Chigurh raises
          the shotgun.

                          CHIGURH
           Hello Carson. Let's go to your room.

          2ND HOTEL EAGLE ROOM - NIGHT
          Chigurh sits into a chair drawn up to face the armchair where
          Carson Wells sits.

                          WELLS
           We don't have to do this. I'm a
           daytrader. I could just go home.

                          CHIGURH
           Why would I let you do that?

                         

                          WELLS
           I know where the money is.

                          81

                         

                          CHIGURH
           If you knew, you would have it with
           you.

                          WELLS
           I need dark. To get it. I know where
           it is.

                          CHIGURH
           I know something better.

                          WELLS
           What's that.

                          CHIGURH
           I know where it's going to be.

                         

                          WELLS
           And where is that.

                          CHIGURH
           It will be brought to me and placed
           at my feet.
          Wells wipes his mouth with his hand.

                          WELLS
           You don't know to a certainty. Twenty
           minutes it could be here.

                          CHIGURH
           I do know to a certainty. And you
           know what's going to happen now. You
           should admit your situation. There
           would be more dignity in it.

                          WELLS
           You go to hell.
          A beat.

                          CHIGURH
           Let me ask you something. If the
           rule you followed brought you to
           this, of what use was the rule?
          Another beat.

                          WELLS
           Do you have any idea how goddamn
           crazy you are?

                          82

                         

                          CHIGURH
           You mean the nature of this
           conversation?

                          WELLS
           I mean the nature of you.
          Chigurh looks at him equably. Wells holds his look.

                          WELLS
           ...You can have the money. Anton.
          The phone rings.
          Wells looks at the phone. Chigurh hasn't moved.
          Wells looks at Chigurh, waiting for a decision.

                         
          The low chug of the shotgun.
          Aside from his finger on the trigger, Chigurh hasn't moved.
          He sits staring at Wells's remains for a beat.
          Now his look swings onto the phone. He watches it ring twice
          more.
          He picks it up and listens without speaking.
          After a beat:

                          MOSS'S VOICE
           ...Hello?

                          CHIGURH
           Yes?
          Another beat.

                          MOSS'S VOICE
           Is Carson Wells there.
          A longer beat.

                          CHIGURH
           Not in the sense that you mean.
          Moss doesn't answer. Chigurh gives him a beat, and then:

                          CHIGURH
           ...You need to come see me.

                          83

                         

          MEXICAN HOSPITAL WARD - NIGHT
          We intercut Moss, in his hospital robe, at a public phone on
          the ward. He stands tensed with the phone to his ear. Finally:

                          MOSS
           Who is this.

                          CHIGURH
           You know who it is.
          A beat.

                          CHIGURH
           ...You need to talk to me.

                          MOSS
           I don't need to talk to you.

                          CHIGURH
           I think that you do. Do you know
           where I'm going?

                          MOSS
           Why would I care where you're going.

                          CHIGURH
           Do you know where I'm going?
          No answer.

          INT. 2ND HOTEL EAGLE ROOM - NIGHT

          Chigurh cocks his head, noticing something on the floor. He
          adjusts to sit back and raise his boots onto the bed.
          On the floor where his feet were, blood is pooling out from
          Wells's chair.

                          CHIGURH
           ...I know where you are.

                          MOSS
           Yeah? Where am I?

                          CHIGURH
           You're in the hospital across the
           river. But that's not where I'm going.
           Do you know where I'm going?

                          MOSS
           Yeah. I know where you're going.

                          84

                         

                          CHIGURH
           All right.

                          MOSS
           You know she won't be there.

                          CHIGURH
           It doesn't make any difference where
           she is.

                          MOSS
           So what're you goin' up there for.
          A beat.

                          CHIGURH
           You know how this is going to turn
           out, don't you?

                          MOSS
           No. Do you?

                          CHIGURH
           Yes, I do. I think you do too. So
           this is what I'll offer. You bring
           me the money and I'll let her go.
           Otherwise she's accountable. The
           same as you. That's the best deal
           you're going to get. I won't tell
           you you can save yourself because
           you can't.

                          MOSS
           Yeah I'm goin' to bring you somethin'
           all right. I've decided to make you
           a special project of mine. You ain't
           goin' to have to look for me at all.
          Moss slams the phone onto its hook, then slams it twice more
          for good measure.
          Chigurh, in the hotel room, cradles his phone.

          INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

          Sheriff Bell sits at his usual booth, but with an unaccustomed
          look: reading glasses. He has been looking at a newspaper
          but is now peering over his glasses up at Wendell who
          apparently interrupted his reading.

                          BELL
           The motel in Del Rio?
          Wendell nods.

                          85

                         

                         

                          WENDELL
           Yessir. None of the three had ID on
           'em but they're tellin' me all three
           is Mexicans. Was Mexicans.

                          BELL
           There's a question. Whether they
           stopped bein'. And when.

                          WENDELL
           Yessir.

                          BELL
           Now, Wendell, did you inquire about
           the cylinder lock?

                         

                          WENDELL
           Yessir. It was punched out.

                          BELL
           Okay.

                          WENDELL
           You gonna drive out there?

                          BELL
           No, that's the only thing I would've
           looked for. And it sounds like these
           boys died of natural causes.

                          WENDELL
           How's that, Sheriff?

                          BELL
           Natural to the line of work they was
           in.

                          WENDELL
           Yessir.

                          BELL
           My lord, Wendell, it's just all-out
           war. I don't know any other word
           for it. Who are these folks? I don't
           know...
          He rattles the paper.

                          86

                         

                          BELL
           ...Here last week they found this
           couple out in California they would
           rent out rooms to old people and
           then kill em and bury em in the yard
           and cash their social security checks.
           They'd torture em first, I don't
           know why. Maybe their television set
           was broke. And this went on until,
           and here I quote...
          He looks through his glasses at the paper.

                          BELL
           ..."Neighbors were alerted when a
           man ran from the premises wearing
           only a dog collar." You can't make
           up such a thing as that. I dare you
           to even try.
          He peers over his glasses at Wendell who respectfully shakes
          his head and tsks.
          Sheriff Bell rattles the paper again.

                          BELL
           ...But that's what it took, you'll
           notice. Get someone's attention.
           Diggin graves in the back yard didn't
           bring any.
          Wendell bites back a smile. Sheriff Bell gazes at him over
          his glasses for a long beat, deadpan.

                          BELL
           ...That's all right. I laugh myself
           sometimes.
          He goes back to the paper.

                          BELL
           ...There ain't a whole lot else you
           can do.

          EXT. BORDER SHACK - DAY

          Moss, a coat thrown over his hospital robe, is standing before
          a uniformed INS official on the Rio Grande bridge.
          The official, who looks like a marine drill instructor, is
          chewing. He chews for a long beat, staring at Moss.

                         
          He finally spits tobacco juice and pats his lower lip with a
          handkerchief.

                          87

                         

                         

                          OFFICIAL
          Who do you think gets through this
          gate into the United States of
          America?

                          MOSS
          I don't know. American citizens.

                          OFFICIAL
          Some American citizens. Who do you
          think decides?

                          MOSS
          You do, I reckon.

                          OFFICIAL
          That is correct. And how do I decide?

                          MOSS
          I don't know.

                          OFFICIAL
          I ask questions. If I get sensible
          answers then they get to go to
          America. If I don't get sensible
          answers they don't. Is there anything
          about that that you don't understand?

                          MOSS
          No sir.

                          OFFICIAL
          Then I ask you again how you come to
          be out here with no clothes.

                          MOSS
          I got an overcoat on.

                          OFFICIAL
          Are you jackin' with me?

                          MOSS
          No sir.

                          OFFICIAL
          Don't jack with me.

                          MOSS
          Yes sir.

                         

                          OFFICIAL
          Are you in the service?

                          88

                         

                          MOSS
           No sir. I'm a veteran.

                          OFFICIAL
           Nam?

                          MOSS
           Yes sir. Two tours.

                          OFFICIAL
           What outfit.

                          MOSS
           Twelfth Infantry Batallion. August
           seventh nineteen and sixty-six to
           July second nineteen and sixty-eight.

                         
          The official stares at him, chewing, sour.

                          OFFICIAL
           Wilson!

                          GUARD
           Yessir.

                          OFFICIAL
           Get someone to help this man. He
           needs to get into town.

          INT. GENERAL STORE - DAY

          The clerk who earlier sold him the boots:

                          CLERK
           How those Larries holdin' up?
          Moss is walking up in his boots and overcoat and hospital
          robe.

                          MOSS
           Good. I need everything else.

                          CLERK
           Okay.

                          MOSS
           You get a lot of people come in here
           with no clothes on?

                          CLERK
           No sir, it's unusual.

                          89

                         

          EXT. RIVER BANK - DAY

          We are looking across the Rio Grande. Moss appears over the
          near edge of the river bank, newly clothed, and holding the
          document case.
          As he reaches the top of the bank he frowns and twists his
          neck, responding to an irritation. He feels around with his
          free hand inside the back of the shirt collar. A sharp yank.
          His hand comes away with a small tag.

          INT. GREYHOUND STATION - DEL RIO - DAY

          The document case is resting on a small foreground counter.
          Moss is at a pay phone, one hand holding the phone to his
          ear, the other resting on the case.
          The voice on the phone is old, female, and querulous:

                          VOICE
           She don't want to talk to you.

                          MOSS
           Yes she does. Put her on.

                          VOICE
           Do you know what time it is?

                          MOSS
           I don't care what time it is. Don't
           you hang up this phone.

                          VOICE
           I told her what was going to happen,
           didn't I. Chapter and verse. I said:
           This is what will come to pass. And
           now it has come to pass --
          Scuffing sounds, a sharp "Mama!", and then, into the phone:

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn?

                          MOSS
           Hey.

                          CARLA JEAN
           What should I do?

                         

                          MOSS
           You know what's goin' on?

                          90

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
          I don't know, I had the sheriff here
          from Terrell County --

                          MOSS
          What did you tell him?

                          CARLA JEAN
          What did I know to tell him. You're
          hurt, ain't you?

                          MOSS
          What makes you say that?

                          CARLA JEAN
          I can hear it in your voice.

                         

                          MOTHER

                          (DISTANT)
          There is falseness in his voice!

                          MOSS
          Meet me at the Heart of Texas motel
          in El Paso. I'm gonna give you the
          money and put you on a plane.

                          CARLA JEAN
          Llewelyn, I ain't gonna leave you in
          the lurch.

                          MOSS
          No. This works better. With you gone
          and I don't have the money, he can't
          touch me. But I can sure touch him.
          After I find him I'll come and join
          you.

                          CARLA JEAN
          Find who? What am I supposed to do
          with Mother?

                          MOSS
          She'll be all right.

                          CARLA JEAN
          She'll be all right?

                          MOTHER

                          (DISTANT)
          Be all right! I've got the cancer!

                         

                          MOSS
          I don't think anybody'll bother her.

                          91

                         

          OFFICE HALLWAY - DAY

          A LOCK CYLINDER
          It blows in. The hole shows a brightly lit cinderblock wall
          behind.
          The door swings open and the air tank is swung in and
          deposited on carpet.
          Wider: Chigurh enters the carpeted hallway from the
          cinderblock stairwell, holding the tricked-out shotgun.
          The hallway is white wallboard, doors opening off it at long
          intervals. Chigurh stands still and listens. Nothing but the
          hum of ventilation.

                         
          He walks quietly to the one open door twenty feet away.

          INT. OFFICE - DAY

          He enters.
          The man who hired Carson Wells is behind his desk, in front
          of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looks up from papers,
          slipping off his reading glasses. On seeing the shotgun he
          opens a desk drawer and starts to rise.
          Chung -- the shotgun blast knocks him back. Shot pits but
          doesn't break the window.
          A man in a suit rises and turns from the chair opposite the
          desk, very slowly, as if to advertise that he is not a threat.
          Chigurh ignores him and rounds the desk to look at the man
          gurgling on the floor.
          After a beat, still looking down at the man he has shot:

                          CHIGURH
           Who are you?
          A long beat.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           ...Me?

                          CHIGURH
           Yes.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           Nobody. Accounting.
          Chigurh finally looks up at him.

                          92

                         

                         

                          CHIGURH
           He gave Acosta's people a receiver.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           He feels... he felt... the more people
           looking...

                          CHIGURH
           That's foolish. You pick the one
           right tool.
          Chigurh inclines his head toward the pocked glass of the
          picture window.

                          CHIGURH
           ...For instance. I used birshot. So
           as not to blow the window.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           I see.
          He still has not moved, one hand still touching the armrest.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           ...Are you going to shoot me?
          Chigurh looks at him.

                          CHIGURH
           That depends. Do you see me?
          The man stares at him for a beat.

           MAN AT CHAIR
           No.

          INT. CAB - ODESSA - DAY


          EYES IN A REAR-VIEW MIRROR
          Eyes in a weathered face shift back and forth between road
          and mirror, where they give nodding acknowledgment to the
          passenger.

                          MOTHER'S VOICE
           And I always seen this is what it
           would come to. Three years ago I pre-
           visioned it.
          Wider shows Carla Jean and her mother in the back of the
          moving cab.

                          93

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           It ain't even three years we been
           married.

                          MOTHER
           Three years ago I said them very
           words. No and Good.

                          DRIVER
           Yes ma'am.

                          MOTHER
           Now here we are. Ninety degree heat.
           I got the cancer. And look at this.
           Not even a home to go to.

                          DRIVER
           Yes ma'am.

                          MOTHER
           We're goin' to El Paso Texas. You
           know how many people I know in El
           Paso Texas?

                          DRIVER
           No ma'am.
          She holds up thumb and forefinger curled to make an 0.

                          MOTHER
           That's how many. Ninety degree heat.

          EXT. BUS STATION - ODESSA - DAY

          The cab is stopped outside the depot. Carla Jean and her
          mother and the driver are at the trunk struggling over bags.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I got it Mama.

                          MOTHER
           I didn't see my Prednizone.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I put it in, Mama.

                          MOTHER
           Well I didn't see it.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Well I put it in. That one. You just
           set there. I'll get tickets and a
           cart for the bags.

                          94

                         
          As Carla Jean goes to the station a man emerges from a car
          pulled up behind. He is a well-dressed Mexican of early middle
          age.

                          MEXICAN
           Do you need help with the bags, madam?

                          MOTHER
           Well thank god there's one gentleman
           left in West Texas. Yes thank you. I
           am old and I am not well.

                          MEXICAN
           Which bus are you taking?

                          MOTHER
           We're going to El Paso, don't ask me
           why. Discombobulated by a no-account
           son-in-law. Thank you. You don't
           often see a Mexican in a suit.

                          MEXICAN
           You go to El Paso? I know it. Where
           are you staying?

          INT. BUS STATION - DAY

          Carla Jean is at a phone booth.
          After a short wait, a pickup and a filtered:

                          SHERIFF BELL
           Carla Jean, how are you.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Sheriff, was that a true story about
           Charlie Walser?

                          BELL
           Who's Charlie Walser. Oh! Well, I,
           uh... True story? I couldn't swear
           to ever detail but... it's certainly
           true that it is a story.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Yeah, right. Sheriff, can you give
           me your word on somethin'?

          SHERIFF BELL'S OFFICE - DAY
          We intercut Sheriff Bell in his office.

                         

                          BELL
           Yes ma'am?

                          95

                         

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           If I tell you where Llewelyn's headed,
           you promise it'll be just you goes
           and talks with him -- you and nobody
           else?

                          BELL
           Yes ma'am, I do.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Llewelyn would never ask for help.
           He never thinks he needs any.

                          BELL
           Carla Jean, I will not harm your
           man. And he needs help, whether he
           knows it or not.

          EXT. ROAD - DAY


                         CHIGURH
          A driving point-of-view approaching Chigurh, who leans against
          his Ramcharger, its hood up, stopped on the shoulder on the
          opposite side of the road.
          Reverse shows a man in an El Camino. Chickens in stacked
          cages squawk and flutter in the bed.
          The man slows and rolls his window down to lean out.

                          MAN
           What's the problem there, neighbor.

                         MINUTES LATER
          The man has pulled his vehicle over nose-to-nose with
          Chigurh's. He is rummaging in the car behind the seat. His
          voice comes out muffled:

                          MAN
           Yeah, that'll suck some power. Over
           time.

                          CHIGURH
           You from around here?
          The man emerges with jumper cables.

                          MAN
           Alpine. Born 'n bred. Here ya go.
          He hands one pair of leads to Chigurh.

                          96

                         

                         

                          CHIGURH
           What airport would you use.

                          MAN
           Huh? Airport or airstrip?

                          CHIGURH
           Airport.

                          MAN
           Well -- where ya goin'?

                          CHIGURH
           I don't know.

                          MAN
           Just lightin' out for the territories,
           huh. Brother, I been there... Well...
          He takes off his hat and draws a sleeve across his brow,
          thinking.

                          MAN
           ...There's airstrips.
          He turns with his pair of leads to clamp them onto his
          battery. On his back:

                          MAN
           ...The airport is El Paso. You want
           some place specific you might could
           be better off just drivin' to Dallas.
           Not have to connect.
          He turns back around to face Chigurh who stands there, still
          holding his pair of leads.

                          MAN
           ...You gonna clamp them, buddy?
          Chigurh is looking at him blandly.

                          CHIGURH
           Can you get those chicken crates out
           of the bed.
          The man stares at him.

                          MAN
           What're you talkin' about?

                          97

                         

          EXT. CAR WASH - DAY


                         COIN SLOT
          Quarters are fed in. Wider as Chigurh unholsters the wand at
          a self-service car wash.
          He sprays the spatter-pattern rust-colored stain off the
          roof of the cab of the El Camino.
          Water drums as he sprays chicken feathers out of the bed.

          EXT. MOTEL - EL PASO - DAY

          Moss is turning the key in his room door, a new vinyl gun
          bag slung over his shoulder.

                         
          At the cut the roar of a plane climbing overhead recedes.
          Out of it, a voice:

                          WOMAN
           Hey Mr. Sporting Goods.
          Moss looks.
          A woman sunbathes at the central court swimming pool. A lot
          of hard light.

                          MOSS
           Hey yourself.
          The woman is pretty in a roadhouse-veteran sort of way. Her
          voice carries a flat echo, slapping off the surface of the
          pool.

                          WOMAN
           You a sport?
          Moss slings the bag into the room onto the bed and then turn
          and leans against a veranda post.

                          MOSS
           That's me.

                          WOMAN
           I got beers in my room.
          Moss holds up his left hand to show the ring.

                          MOSS
           Waitin' for my wife.

                          98

                         

                          WOMAN
           Oh. That's who you keep lookin' out
           the window for?

                          MOSS
           Half.

                          WOMAN
           What else then?

                          MOSS
           Lookin' for what's comin'.

                          WOMAN
           Yeah but no one ever sees that. I
           like a man that'll tell you he's
           married.

                         

                          MOSS
           Then you'll like me.

                          WOMAN
           I do like you.
          A beat. Lapping water.

                          WOMAN
           ...Beer. That's what's comin', I'll
           bring the ice chest out here. You
           can stay married.
          Building jet roar from another climbing plane.

                          MOSS
           Ma'am I know what beer leads to.
          The woman laughs. Before the plane overwhelms it:

                          WOMAN
           Beer leads to more beer.

          INT. SHERIFF BELL'S CRUISER - DAY


                         SHERIFF BELL
          Driving.
          As he drives he refers to one side of the road, a commercial
          strip, looking for something. We hear the fading roar of a
          large airplane.

                         
          The tock tock of distant gunfire brings his look around. A
          beat. Another tock. The chatter of machine-gun fire. Another
          single shot.

                          99

                         

                         
          Sheriff Bell stamps the accelerator and hits his siren.

          EXT. MOTEL STREET - DAY

          Point-of-view racing toward the motel: a pickup with a rack
          of roof lights roars out. Tire squeals, machine-gun chatter
          and dog barks. The truck turns toward us, then slews around
          and speeds away, fishtailing.

          EXT. MOTEL COURTYARD - DAY

          Point-of-view turning into the central court: a man is
          crawling on his belly along the veranda toward the street.
          Sheriff Bell skids to a halt and gets out. We hear screams,
          a child crying.

                         
          Sheriff Bell jogs toward the crawling man, one hand on his
          holstered gun.
          Behind the man on the veranda is his abandoned machine pistol.
          He is a Mexican in a guyabera.
          Sheriff Bell yells at a scared face in a cracked door:

                          BELL
           Call police.
          He is still jogging. A glance to the side:
          Rough point-of-view of a woman's body, belly-down at the lip
          of the pool, head and upper torso in the water.
          Rough point-of-view forward: an open room door. Booted feet
          stick out.
          Sheriff Bell arrives. Moss is face-up, mostly inside the
          room. The new gun bag is next to him. The gun is in hand.
          He is still.
          Voices. Sheriff Bell glances off.

                          BELL
           ...Call your local law enforcement.
           I'm not on their radio.

          EXT. MOTEL - NIGHT

          Night. The entrance is blocked by police vehicles.

                         
          People stand around in knots. Sheriff Bell is talking to the
          local sheriff. A door slam attracts his look.

                          100

                         
          Carla Jean has gotten out of the far side of a cab. On the
          near side the driver is leaning in to help her mother out.
          After a couple of rocking attempts she has enough inertia to
          come to her feet outside the vehicle.
          Carla Jean is advancing slowly toward Sheriff Bell, taking
          in the scene.
          Sheriff Bell steps toward her.
          Her eyes track his hand as he raises it to his hat. He takes
          it off.

                          BELL
           Carla Jean...

                          CARLA JEAN
           No.

          INT. HOSPITAL/MORGUE - NIGHT

          Looking down a long corridor flanked by a wall of stainless
          steel drawers. At the far end stands Bell, hat in hand,
          staring down into an open drawer just in front of him. A
          long beat.

          EXT. HOSPITAL / MORGUE - NIGHT

          The local sheriff, Roscoe Giddins, stands smoking under the
          port cochere in front of the hospital. Sheriff Bell emerges
          from the building.
          A long beat.

                          BELL
           I don't know who she is.
          He puts his hat back on.

                          ROSCOE
           I thought maybe she was with your
           boy there.

                          BELL
           No ID in her room?

                          ROSCOE
           Not hardly nothin' in her room. And
           that establishment was no stickler
           on registration. Well...

                         
          The two men start walking.

                          101

                         

                          ROSCOE
           ...County'll bury her. Here Lies
           Female, Unknown. Her Number Was Up.
          A walking beat.

                          ROSCOE
           ...Buy you a cup of coffee before
           you drive home?

          COFFEE SHOP - EL PASO - NIGHT
          Roscoe and Sheriff Bell face each other over coffee.

                          BELL
           No money in his room there?

                         

                          ROSCOE
           Couple hundred on his person. Those
           hombres would've taken the stash.

                          BELL
           I suppose. Though they was leavin'
           in a hurry.

                          ROSCOE
           It's all the goddamned money, Ed
           Tom. The money and the drugs. It's
           just goddamned beyond everything.
           What is it mean? What is it leading
           to?

                          BELL
           Yes.

                          ROSCOE
           If you'd a told me twenty years ago
           I'd see children walkin' the streets
           of our Texas towns with green hair
           and bones in their noses I just flat
           out wouldn't of believed you.

                          BELL
           Signs and wonders. But I think once
           you stop hearin' sir and madam the
           rest is soon to follow.

                          ROSCOE
           It's the tide. It's the dismal tide.
           It is not the one thing.

                          102

                         

                          BELL
           Not the one thing. I used to think I
           could at least some way put things
           right. I don't feel that way no more.
          A beat.

                          BELL
           ...I don't know what I do feel like.

                          ROSCOE
           Try "old" on for size.

                          BELL
           Yessir. It may be that. In a nutshell.

          EXT. COFFEE SHOP PARKING LOT - NIGHT


                         
          The two men are walking out.

                          ROSCOE
           None of that explains your man though.

                          BELL
           Uh-huh.

                          ROSCOE
           He is just a goddamn homicidal
           lunatic, Ed Tom.

                          BELL
           I'm not sure he's a lunatic.

                          ROSCOE
           Well what would you call him.

                          BELL
           I don't know. Sometimes I think he's
           pretty much a ghost.

                          ROSCOE
           He's real all right.

                          BELL
           Oh yes.

                          ROSCOE
           All that at the Eagle Hotel. It's
           beyond everything.

                          BELL
           Yes, he has some hard bark on him.

                          103

                         

                          ROSCOE
           That don't hardly say it. He shoots
           the desk clerk one day, and walks
           right back in the next and shoots a
           retired army colonel.
          They have reached Sheriff Bell's cruiser and he sits in.

                          BELL
           Hard to believe.

                          ROSCOE
           Strolls right back into a crime scene.
           Who would do such a thing? How do
           you defend against it?
          Roscoe closes the door for Sheriff Bell.

                         

                          ROSCOE
           ...Good trip Ed Tom. I'm sorry we
           couldn't help your boy.
          He is walking away.
          Sheriff Bell sits thinking in the cruiser. He makes no move
          for the ignition.
          A long beat.

          EXT. MOTEL

          Now very late, empty of onlookers and emergency vehicles.
          Sheriff Bell's cruiser pulls up just inside the courtyard.
          He cuts his engine.
          Sheriff Bell sits looking at the motel.
          Very quiet. After a long beat he gets out of the car. He
          pushes its door shut quietly, with two hands.
          He looks up the veranda.
          The one door, most of the way up, has yellow tape across it.
          Its loose ends wave in a light breeze.
          Sheriff Bell looks up the street.
          Nothing much to attract his attention.

          EXT. MOTEL VERANDA


                         
          Sheriff Bell steps up onto the veranda. He takes slow, quiet
          steps.

                          104

                         

                         
          We intercut his point-of-view, nearing the door marked by
          police tape.
          As he draws close to the door he slows.
          The yellow tape is about chest high. Above it is the lock
          cylinder. It has been punched hollow.
          Sheriff Bell stands staring at the lock.
          Very quiet. The chick, chick, of the tape-ends against the
          door frame.
          Still.

          INT. MOTEL ROOM


                         

                         INSIDE
          Chigurh is still also. Just on the other side of the door,
          he stands holding his shotgun.
          From inside, the tap of the breeze-blown tape is dulled but
          perceptible. It counts out beats.
          Chigurh is also looking at the lock cylinder.
          The curved brass of its hollow interior holds a reflection
          of the motel room exterior. Lights and shapes. The curvature
          distorts to unrecognizability what is reflected, but we see
          the color of Sheriff Bell's uniform.
          The reflection is very still. Then, slow movement.

                         OUTSIDE
          Sheriff Bell finishes bringing his hand to his holstered
          gun. It rests there.
          Still once again.
          His point-of-view of the lock. The reflection from here,
          darker, is hard to read.

                         INSIDE
          Chigurh, still.

                         OUTSIDE

                         
          Sheriff Bell, his hand on his holstered gun. A long beat.
          His hand drops.

                          105

                         

                         
          He extends one booted toe. He nudges the door inward.
          As the lock cylinder slowly recedes, reflected shapes scramble
          inside it and slide up its curve. Before the door is fully
          open we cut around:

                         FROM INSIDE
          The door finishes creaking open. Sheriff Bell is a silhouette
          in the doorway.
          A still beat.
          At length Sheriff Bell ducks under the chest-high police
          tape to enter.

                         
          The worn carpet has a large dark stain that glistens near
          the door. Sheriff Bell steps over it, advancing slowly. The
          room is dimly lit shapes.
          There is a bathroom door in the depth of the room. Sheriff
          Bell advances toward it. He stops in front of it.
          He toes the door. It creaks slowly open.

          INT. MOTEL BATHROOM

          The bathroom, with no spill light from outside, is pitch
          black.
          Sheriff Bell reaches slowly up with one hand. He gropes at
          the inside wall.
          The light goes on: bright. White tile. Sheriff Bell squints.
          A beat.
          He takes a step in.
          He looks at the small window.
          He looks at the window's swivel-catch, locked.

          INT. MAIN ROOM

          Sheriff Bell emerges from the bathroom. He sits heavily onto
          the bed.
          He looks around, not for anything in particular. His look
          catches on something low, just in front of him:

                         
          A ventilation duct near the baseboard. Its opening is exposed;
          its grille lies on the floor before it.

                          106

                         
          Sheriff Bell stares.
          At length he leans forward. He nudges the grille aside. On
          the floor, a couple of screws. A coin.

          EXT. WEST TEXAS CABIN - DAY


                         A CAT
          Licking itself on a plank floor, stiffened leg pointing out.
          It suddenly stops and looks up, ears perked.
          A frozen beat, and then it bolts.
          The camera booms up to frame the barren west Texas landscape
          outside the window of this isolated cabin. A pickup truck is
          approaching, trailing dust. The cat reenters frame outside,
          running across the rutted gravel in front of the house as
          the pickup slows.

          INT. WEST TEXAS CABIN - KITCHEN - DAY

          Ellis, an old man in a wheelchair, has one clouded eye.

                          ELLIS
           Min back!
          Sheriff Bell enters.

                          BELL
           How'd you know I was here.

                          ELLIS
           Who else'd be in your truck.

                          BELL
           You heard it?

                          ELLIS
           How's that?

                          BELL
           You heard my -- you havin' fun with
           me?

                          ELLIS
           What give you that idea. I seen one
           of the cats heard it.

                          BELL
           But -- how'd you know it was mine?

                          107

                         

                          ELLIS
           I deduced it. Once you walked in.
          Sheriff Bell stares at him.

                          BELL
           How many a those things you got now?

                          ELLIS
           Cats? Several. Wal. Depends what you
           mean by got. Some are half-wild, and
           some are just outlaws.

                          BELL
           How you been, Ellis?

                          ELLIS
           You lookin' at it. I got to say you
           look older.

                          BELL
           I am older.

                          ELLIS
           Got a letter from your wife. She
           writes pretty regular, tells me the
           family news.

                          BELL
           Didn't know there was any.

                          ELLIS
           She just told me you was quittin'.
           Sit down.
          Sheriff Bell lifts an electric percolator off the counter.

                          BELL
           Want a cup?

                          ELLIS
           'Predate it.

                          BELL
           How fresh is this coffee?

                          ELLIS
           I generally make a fresh pot ever
           week even if there's some left over.
          Sheriff Bell pours some.

                         

                          BELL
           That man that shot you died in prison.

                          108

                         

                         

                          ELLIS
           In Angola. Yeah.

                          BELL
           What would you a done if he'd been
           released?

                          ELLIS
           I don't know. Nothin'. Wouldn't be
           no point to it.

                          BELL
           I'm kindly surprised to hear you say
           that.

                          ELLIS
           All the time you spend tryin' to get
           back what's been took from you there's
           more goin' out the door. After a
           while you just try and get a
           tourniquet on it.
          He taps a cigarette ash into a mason jar lid on the table in
          front of him.

                          ELLIS
           ...Your granddad never asked me to
           sign on as deputy. I done that my
           own self. Loretta says you're
           quittin'.

                          BELL
           Yes, you've circled round.

                          ELLIS
           How come're you doin that?

                          BELL
           I don't know. I feel overmatched.
          A beat.

                          BELL
           ...I always thought when I got older
           God would sort of come into my life
           in some way. He didn't. I don't blame
           him. If I was him I'd have the same
           opinion about me that he does.

                          ELLIS
           You don't know what he thinks.

                          109

                         

                          BELL
           Yes I do.
          A beat.

                          ELLIS
           I sent Uncle Mac's badge and his old
           thumbbuster to the Rangers. For their
           museum there. Your daddy ever tell
           you how Uncle Mac come to his reward?
          Sheriff Bell shrugs.

                          ELLIS
           ...Shot down on his own porch there
           in Hudspeth County. There was seven
           or eight of 'em come to the house.
           Wantin' this and wantin' that. Mac
           went back in and got his shotgun but
           they was way ahead of him. Shot him
           down in his own doorway. Aunt Ella
           run out and tried to stop the
           bleedin'. Him tryin to get hold of
           the shotgun again. They just set
           there on their horses watchin' him
           die. Finally one of 'em says somethin'
           in Injun and they all turned and
           left out. Well Mac knew the score
           even if Aunt Ella didn't. Shot through
           the left lung and that was that. As
           they say.

                          BELL
           When did he die?

                          ELLIS
           Nineteen zero and nine.

                          BELL
           No, I mean was it right away or in
           the night or when was it.

                          ELLIS
           Believe it was that night. She buried
           him the next mornin'. Diggin' in
           that hard caliche.
          A beat.

                          110

                         

                          ELLIS
           ...What you got ain't nothin' new.
           This country is hard on people. Hard
           and crazy. Got the devil in it yet
           folks never seem to hold it to
           account.

                          BELL
           Most don't.

                          ELLIS
           You're discouraged.

                          BELL
           I'm... discouraged.

                          ELLIS
           You can't stop what's comin. Ain't
           all waitin' on you.
          The two men look at each other. Ellis shakes his head.

                          ELLIS
           ...That's vanity.
          After a beat, a fast fade.

          EXT. GRAVESITE - ODESSA - DAY

          In black we hear the chink-chink-chink of chain being played
          out and the hum of a motor.
          We cut to a dark foreground shape being lowered in sync with
          the clinking sound. As it drops it clears a tombstone

                         PROGRESSIVELY REVEALED:
          The name, Agnes Kracik.
          Her dates: 1922-1980.
          The inscription: Beloved Mother.
          Off that we cut to Carla Jean, standing by in a black dress
          and dark veil.

          EXT. A SMALL SUBURBAN HOUSE - DAY

          A parched square of grass in front of the house. A rusty
          station wagon pulls into the driveway and stops. Carla Jean
          gets out.

                          111

                         

          INT. KITCHEN

          Carla Jean enters and puts on the kettle. She opens the
          cupboard looking for something.

          KITCHEN - LATER
          Carla Jean sits at the kitchen table drinking tea. She looks
          out the window.
          Across the street kids are running through a sprinkler that
          chugs in the yard.

          INT. BEDROOM


                         BEDROOM DOOR

                         
          The door opens and Carla Jean enters holding her hat and
          veil. She throws the light switch and stops, hand frozen,
          looking into the room.
          After a beat:

                          CARLA JEAN
           I knew this wasn't done with.
          Chigurh sits at the far end of the room in the late-afternoon
          shadows.

                          CHIGURH
           No.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I ain't got the money.

                          CHIGURH
           No.

                          CARLA JEAN
           What little I had is long gone and
           they's bill aplenty to pay yet. I
           buried my mother today. I ain't paid
           for that neither.

                          CHIGURH
           I wouldn't worry about it.

                          CARLA JEAN
           ...I need to sit down.
          Chigurh nods at the bed and Carla Jean sits down, hugging
          her hat and veil.

                          112

                         

                          CARLA JEAN
           ...You got no cause to hurt me.

                          CHIGURH
           No. But I gave my word.

                          CARLA JEAN
           You gave your word?

                          CHIGURH
           To your husband.

                          CARLA JEAN
           That don't make sense. You gave your
           word to my husband to kill me?

                          CHIGURH
           Your husband had the opportunity to
           remove you from harm's way. Instead,
           he used you to try to save himself.

                          CARLA JEAN
           Not like that. Not like you say.

                          CHIGURH
           I don't say anything. Except it was
           foreseen.
          A beat.

                          CARLA JEAN
           I knowed you was crazy when I saw
           you settin' there. I knowed exactly
           what was in store for me.

                          CHIGURH
           Yes. Things fall into place.

          EXT. HOUSE

          Minutes later.
          A beat.
          The front door swings open and Chigurh emerges.
          He pauses with one hand on the jamb and looks at the sole of
          each boot in turn.
          He goes to the pickup in the driveway.

                          113

                         

          INT. PICKUP/EXT. INTERSECTION - A MINUTE LATER

          He is driving.
          His point-of-view: coming upon an empty intersection, his
          light green.
          Back to Chigurh.
          He just starts to turn his head to the right.
          A huge crash.

          EXT. INTERSECTION

          Chigurh's pickup has been T-boned by an old crate of a
          pickup. Both vehicles slide to a halt amid broken glass in
          the middle of the intersection.
          The windshield of the truck that ran the light is mostly
          gone. The driver is draped dead on the wheel.
          After a beat the door of Chigurh's truck is pushed open. He
          staggers out, heavily favoring one leg where the jeans are
          shredded and bloody at the thigh. One arm is also bloody and
          hangs limp. Blood runs down his face from a scalp wound.
          He staggers to a lawn and sits.
          He looks up.
          Two teenage boys have come out of somewhere. They goggle at
          him.

                          BOY 1
           Mister there's a bone stickin' out
           of your arm.

                          CHIGURH
           I'm all right. Let me just sit here
           a minute.

                          BOY 2
           There's an ambulance comin. Man over
           yonder went to call.

                          CHIGURH
           All right.

                          BOY 1
           Are you all right? You got a bone
           stickin' out of your arm.

                          114

                         

                          CHIGURH
           What will you take for that shirt?
          The two boys look at each other. They look back.

                          BOY 2
           What shirt?

                          CHIGURH
           Any damn shirt. I need something to
           wrap around my head and I need a
           sling for this arm.
          Boy 2 unbuttons his shirt.

                          BOY 2
           Hell mister, I'll give you my shirt.

                         
          Chigurh uses his teeth to clamp the shirt and rips it and
          wraps a swatch around his head. He twists the rest of the
          shirt into a sling and puts the limp arm in.

                          BOY 1
           Look at that fuckin' bone.

                          CHIGURH
           Tie this for me.
          The two boys look at each other.

                          CHIGURH
           ...Just tie it.
          Boy 2, the one now wearing a T-shirt, ties it.
          Chigurh pulls a bill clip from his pocket and draws a bill
          out with his teeth. He holds it out to the boy.

                          BOY 2
           Hell mister, I don't mind helpin'
           somebody out. That's a lot of money.

                          CHIGURH
           Take it. Take it and you didn't see
           me. I was already gone.

                          BOY 2
           Yessir.
          Wide on Chigurh limping off.

                         
          We can just hear the boys, small:

                          115

                         

                          BOY 1
           Part of that's mine.

                          BOY 2
           You still got your damn shirt.

                          BOY 1
           That ain't what it was for.

                          BOY 2
           Maybe, but I'm still out a shirt.

          INT. BELL'S KITCHEN - DAY

          Loretta pours Sheriff Bell and then herself morning coffee.

                          BELL
           Maybe I'll go ridin.

                          LORETTA
           Okay.

                          BELL
           What do you think.

                          LORETTA
           I can't plan your day.

                          BELL
           I mean, would you care to join me.

                          LORETTA
           Lord no. I'm not retired.
          A beat.
          Sheriff Bell sips his coffee.

                          BELL
           Maybe I'll help here then.
          A beat.
          Loretta takes a sip.

                          LORETTA
           Better not.
          They both sip.

                          LORETTA
           ...How'd you sleep?

                          116

                         

                          BELL
           I don't know. Had dreams.

                          LORETTA
           Well you got time for 'em now.
           Anything interesting?

                          BELL
           Well they always is to the party
           concerned.

                          LORETTA
           Ed Tom, I'll be polite.

                          BELL
           Okay. Two of 'em. Both had my father.
           It's peculiar. I'm older now'n he
           ever was by twenty years. So in a
           sense he's the younger man. Anyway,
           first one I don't remember so well
           but it was about meetin' him in town
           somewheres and he give me some money
           and I think I lost it. The second
           one, it was like we was both back in
           older times and I was on horseback
           goin' through the mountains of a
           night.

          EXT. SNOWY MOUNTAIN PASS - NIGHT

          We cut to night, and snow. It is the image that the movie
          began with. Continuing in voice over:

                          VOICE OVER
           ...goin' through this pass in the
           mountains. It was cold and snowin',
           hard ridin'. Hard country. He rode
           past me and kept on goin'. Never
           said nothin' goin' by. He just rode
           on past and he had his blanket wrapped
           around him and his head down...
          The rider passes as described, horses' hooves drumming and
          scattering divots of earth and snow.

                          117

                         

                          VOICE OVER
           ...and when he rode past I seen he
           was carryin' fire in a horn the way
           people used to do and I could see
           the horn from the light inside of
           it. About the color of the moon. And
           in the dream I knew that he was goin'
           on ahead and that he was fixin' to
           make a fire somewhere out there in
           all that dark and all that cold, and
           I knew that whenever I got there he
           would be there. Out there up ahead.
          The rider recedes and the image fades, the horn bearing fire
          going last.

                          THE END

                          


No Country for Old Men



Writers :   Ethan Coen  Joel Coen
Genres :   Crime  Drama  Thriller


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